\  dX  - 


* 

* 


ARNOLD; 

OR 

THE  BRITISH  SPY! 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  disk  of  the  setting  sun  just  touched 
the  outline  of  the  forests  crowning  the  heights 
of  Hoboken,  on  a  bright  afternoon  in  Septem¬ 
ber,  1780,  when  a  single  horseman  made  his 
appearance  on  the  river-road  leading  from 
Tarry  Town  to  New  York,  towards  which 
.  place,  then  in  the  possession  of  the  British 
troops  under  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  he  wasslow- 
-  ly  trotting  his  horse.  His  journey  was  nearly 
ended  with  the  day,  for  the  needle-like  spire 
of  Trinity  Church  had  been  for  the  last  half 
hour,  a  prominent  object  in  his  eye,  and  the 
expanded  bay,  girt  with  its  majestic  islands, 
and  covered  with  the  fleets  of  England,  as¬ 
sured  him  that  he  was  approaching  the  head 
quarters  of  the  British  armies. 

He  rode  slowly  along,  with  his  arms  folded 
across  his  breast,  and  the  reins  dropped  care¬ 
lessly  over  the  neck  of  his  large  brown  horse, 
who  stumbled  and  floundered  over  the  rough 
road,  as  if  he  had  been  ridden  fast  and  far. 
The  horseman  was  a  heavily  framed  man, 
with  a  dark  -countenance,  rendered  still  dark¬ 
er  by  thick  brows  and  whiskers.  His  face 
wore  an  expression  of  dogged  resolution  and 
reckless  daring.  His  costume  was  partly 
that  of  a  yeoman,  partly  military — a  fustian 
frock,  buttoned  to  the  throat,  and  reaching 
to  the  stirrup,  and  a  broad  flapping  hat  that 
he  wore — belonging  to  the  class  of  yeoman¬ 


ry,  and  a  leathern  belt  stuck  wuth  a  brace  of 
pistols,  and  sustaining  a  serviceable  broad 
sword,  with  stout  buff,  buck-skin  breeches, 
somewhat  darkened  by  long  service — apper¬ 
taining  to  the  last  profession.  He  appeared 
lost  in  thought,  and  indifferent  to  surrounding 
objects ;  but  the  alert  and  wary  movements 
of  his  eyes,  and,  what  a  closer  scrutiny  dis¬ 
covered,  one  hand  of  his  folded  arms  resting 
on  the  butt  of  a  pistol,  and  the  other  grasping 
the  hilt  of  his  broadsword,  showed  that  he 
was  on  watch  for  sudden  danger,  and  prepa¬ 
red  to  meet  it. 

He  had  just  gained  the  brow  of  a  gentle 
declivity,  over  which  the  road  wound,  from 
whence  there  was  a  view  of  the  town,  and 
from  which  the  broad  banner  of  England, 
floating  above  the  quarters  of  General  Clin¬ 
ton,  was  in  full  sight,  when  the  sun  dipped 
beneath  the  horizon  ;  at  the  same  instant  the 
report  of  the  sunset  gun  fired  from  the  Batte¬ 
ry,  reached  his  ears — the  flags  on  fort  and 
shipping  descended  from  their  staffs,  and  over 
the  fortified  town,  night  and  watchfulness 
took  the  place  of  day  and  security.  The 
horseman  now  gathered  the  reins  in  his  huge 
brown  fist,  settled  himself  into  his  saddle,  and 
muttering  in  a  sort  of  subdued  growl : 

‘  Come,  Bruin,  we  have  loitered  full  long — 
stir !  stir !  a  measure  of  corn  and  a  cup  of 
sack  await  us  at  the  inn  ;  so,  forward !’ 

He  applied,  as  he  spoke,  both  spur  and  whip 
the  sides  of  his  beast,  who,  forthwith,  throw- 


^  gentleman  in  the  uniform  of  a  British  Admi¬ 
ral,  who  was  seated  opposite  to  him. 

4 1  have  my  suspicions,  Rodney ;  but  until 
the  arrival  of  the  letters  to  destroy  or  confirm 
them,  I  will  not  injure  the  fair  fame  even  of  a 
foe,  by  whispering  them.’ 

At  this  instant,  a  slave,  in  a  livery  of  silver 
and  green,  entered  the  room  with  coffee, 
when,  through  the  half-open  door,  a  noise 
came  from  the  street,  of  voices  in  uproarious 
altercation. 

4  What’s  the  disturbance  without,  there, 
Nero?’  demanded  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  half 
rising  from  the  table. 

4  Ony  de  press  gang,  mass  !  Dey  cotch  big 
rebel  at  black  Sam’s — he  no  want  to  go 
’board  ship,  mas’  Rodney — so  um  yell  litty 
bit — dat’s  all,  mass  Kuyhoos’um.’ 

4 1  was  afraid,  General  Kuyphausen,’  said 
Clinton,  resuming  his  seat,  and  addressing  a 
stout  corpulent  officer,  with  stiff,  white  hair, 
highly  powdered,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a 
foreigner  of  high  military  rank— ‘  I  was  afraid 
your  thick-skulled  Germans  and  my  English 
guards  were  at  loggerheads  again.  Hark ! 
what  is  that  ?’ 

4  To  the  main-yard  with  him !  Drag  him  to 
the  Sugar-House !  Give  him  a  berth  in  the 
Old  Jersey!’  mingled  with  the  clashing  of 
weapons,  came  loudly  from  the  street. 

4  It  is  time  for  me  to  interfere,’  said  Clin¬ 
ton,  rising  and  advancing  through  the  hall, 
followed  by  the  others.  ‘  They  have  a  hard¬ 
er  case  than  common  to  deal  with ;  and  I 
fear,  notwithstanding  my  strict  orders,  blood 
will  be  shed  in  their  anxiety  to  secure  him.’ 

When  they  reached  the  door,  they  saw,  by 
the  light  of  the  lamps,  a  gigantic  fellow,  with 
his  back  planted  against  the  iron  railing  en¬ 
closing  the  equestrian  statue  of  the  King,  de¬ 
fending  himself  with  a  huge  broadsword, 
from  the  assault  of  half  a  dozen  men  in  blue 
coats  and  cockades,  who  were  thrusting  at 
him  with  swords,  but  unable,  from  the  cir¬ 
cling  sweep  of  his  powerful  weapon,  with 
which  he  kept  clear  a  wide  space  around  him, 
to  get  near  enough  to  use  them  with  effect. 

4  Hold,  men!’  cried  General  Clinton,  as  the 
leader  of  the  assailants  drew  a  pistol,  and 
was  levelling  it  at  the  man’s  breast,  swear¬ 
ing  he  would  put  an  end  to  the  contest.  ‘  Put 


up  jour  pistol,  captain  of  the  gang — and  you 
fellow,  give  your  weapon  to  the  captain  of 
the  guard.’ 

4  If  Iie  will  have  it  let  him  take  it,’ said  the 
man,  menacingly.  ‘  I  am  protected  by  a 
fair  passport,  and  was  quietiy  on  my  way  from 
the  inn  where  I  put  up,  to  these  quarters, 
when  these  skulking  chaps  followed,  and  set 

upon  me  here ;  and  by - if  they  havn’t 

had  a  taste  of  my  quality  by  this  time,  per¬ 
haps  they’d  like  to  trouble  me  again.’ 

4  Advance,  corporal  of  the  guard,  and  se¬ 
cure  him,’  said  General  Clinton  sternly. 

4  Charge  bayonets  !  Forward-march !’  cried 
the  subaltern,  who,  on  the  first  alarm,  had 
turned  out  his  command.  The  press  gang 
opened  to  either  side,  and  left  our  quondam . 
horseman  exposed  to  the  bristling  row  of  bay¬ 
onets  that  advaneed  upon,  and  enclosed  him. 

4  Surrender !’  cried  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard. 

4  I  am  an  American  citizen— the  bearer  of 
a  message  to  General  Clinton,  and  am  pro¬ 
tected  by  his  passport.  Lay  a  finger  on  me 
at  your  peril.’  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  a  pistol 
from  his  belt,  and  cocked  and  levelled  it  at 
the  head  of  the  corporal. 

4  Ha,  says  he  ?’  exclaimed  Sir  Henry  Clin¬ 
ton,  hearing  his  words,  and  turning  to  Sir 
George  Rodney ;  ‘  our  man,  by  haliden. 
Stand  back,  corporal.  Fellow,  I  am  Gener¬ 
al  Clinton.  If  you  are  the  bearer  of  papers 
to  me,  come  forward  and  deliver  them.  First 
resign  your  weapons.’ 

The  man  advanced,  gave  up  his  pistols 
and  sword,  and,  taking  his  passport,  gave  it 
to  the  general,  who,  after  glancing  at  it  said — 

4  It  is  as  I  thought.  Follow  me.’ 


CHAPTER  III. 


Accompanied  by  the  other  gentlemen,  and 
followed  by  the  messenger,  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
led  the  way  to  the  apartment  he  had  left, 
when,  closing  the  door,  and  satisfying  himself 
that  he  was  secure  from  interruption,  he  turn¬ 
ed  to  the  man,  and  demanded  the  letters  of 
which  he  was  the  bearer.  Unbuckling  his 
belt,  he  touched  a  concealed  spring  in  the 


end  of  his/ empty  scabbard,  when  the  steel 
dropped  to  the  ground.  Taking  it  up,  he 
drew  from  it  three  rolls  of  thin  Indian  paper 
addressed  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  and  gave 
them  to  him. 

After  rapidly  glancing  over  the  contents, 
the  British  general  energetically  struck  the  ta¬ 
ble.  ‘  Gentlemen,  it  turns  out  as  I  anticipa¬ 
ted.  My  secret  correspondence  - . 

You  may  leave  the  room,  ‘  trusty  Jack  Smith- 
son,’  as  I  see  it  is  on  the  back  of  letters.  Ho  ! 
without  there.  Markham,  take  Mr.  Smithson 
under  your  care  ’till  I  want  him  again,  and 
see  that  he  neither  leaves  the  house,  nor  has 
communication  with  any  one.’ 

The ,  captain  of  the  guard  received  his 
charge,  and  retired. 


‘  It  is  as  I  thought,  continued  Sir  Henry 
Clinton — ‘  General  Arnold  is  my  correspond¬ 
ed!.’ 

‘  Arnold  !’  exclaimed  the  others,  simulta 
neously. 

‘  Arnold,  and  none  other— -and  on  this  sup¬ 
position  have  I  so  long  kept  up  the  corres¬ 
pondence.  We  will  now  examine  these  let¬ 
ters.  Here  is  one  endorsed — ‘  Important  and 
strictly  private.’  Breaking  the  seal,  he  rap 
idly  ran  his  eyes  over  it ;  his  features,  as  he 
read,  lighting  up  with  animation.  Suddenly 
rising,  he  said  with  energy,  ‘  This  affair  has 
got  to  assume  a  magnitude  and  importance  I 
had  not  anticipated.  This  morning-  General 
Arnold  took  the  command  at  West  Point.' 

‘  At  West  Point,’  repeated  Rodney,  with 
surprize. 

‘  Then  is  it  ours,’  said  General  Kuyphau- 
sen,  shivering  his  glass  on  the  board,  in  the 
animation  of  the  moment. 

‘Listen  to  his  proposal.  He  makes  me  a 
direct  offer  to  surrender  himself,  West  Point, 
and  its  dependencies,  with  all  the  military 
stores  and  provisions— cannon,  vessels,  and 
flotillas,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  contribute  ev¬ 
ery  advantage  to  His  Majesty’s  arms,  and  the 
safety  of  our  men.  Now,  gentlemen,  are  we 
in  the  way  to  pluck  the  fruit  so  long  ripen¬ 
ing.’ 

‘  There  is,  indeed,  an  opening  for  a  suc¬ 
cessful  operation,  that  claims  our  most  assid- 
siduous  care,’  said  Sir  George  Rodney. 

‘  West  Point  appears  to  me  an  object  of  such  j 


vast  importance,  that  no  hazard  or  ZS~^ise 
ought  to  be  weighed  against  it.  It  will  give 
us  control  of  the  Hudson  from  the  sea  to  its 
source,  facilitate  our  intercourse  with  the 
northern  army,  and  be  a  barrier  to  the  inter¬ 
course  between  New-England  and  the  States 
of  Jersey,  New-York  and  Pennsylvania.’ 

‘  And  alsho,  vat  is  of  equal  importanshe,’ 
said  General  Kuyphausen ;  ‘  it  vill  terange 
de  plan  of  te  kombined  armies  ant  vleet  of  te 
Fransh  ant  te  Americans,  in  teir  contemplate 
attack  on  dis  city  of  Neuve  York.’ 

‘  West  Point  must  be  ours,  gentlemen,’  said 
General  Clinton  decidedly.  ‘  From  its  pecu¬ 
liar  position  and  strength,  it  is  the  Gibraltar 
of  this  rebel  country,  and  must  be  taken,  be¬ 
fore  we  can  get  a  permanent  foothold  in  Amer¬ 
ica.  Its  possession  offers  to  us  all  the  ad¬ 
vantages  you  have  named.  But  on  the  ground 
alone  of  defeating  the  projected  attack  on 
New  York,  it  becomes  us  to  pursue  any  plan 
that  will  place  it  in  our  hands.  Not  only 
will  its  capture  serve  to  defeat  the  project  of 
a  combined  attack,  but,  by  cutting  off  their 
supplies,  produce  disaffection,  and,  ultimate 
desertion  in  the  ranks  of  the  rebels,  and  to 
excite  discontent  among  the  French  allies. 
It  will  be  of  incalculable  advantage  to  the 
service,  and  crown  the  campaign  with  tri¬ 
umphant  success.  Let  us  now  see  what  fur¬ 
ther  this  traitor-general  has  to  say.  He  is  no 
stickler,  but  comes  out  with  a  clean  breast. 
Ho !  here  is  the  whole  gist  of  the  matter. — 
Hea%  gentlemen !’  reading  from  the  paper  in 
his  hand.  ‘  I  wish  you  to  send  some  one  in 
your  confidence,  (I  should  prefer  Major  An¬ 
dre,  and,  indeed,  do  not  desire  to  negotiate 
with  any  one  else,  as  I  deem  him  the  most 
befitting  person,)  fullly  authorised  by  your 
house  to  confer  with  me,  and  the  risks  and 
profits  of  the  copartnership  may  be  clearly  un¬ 
derstood.  A  speculation  might,  at  this  time, 
be  made  to  some  advantage,  with  ready  mo¬ 
ney.’  ‘  Bah  !  this,  then,  is  the  way  the  wind 
blows.’ 

‘  Sent  to  him,  General,  von  pag  of  monies 
to  py  Vest  Poin.’ 

So  Arnold  has  a  mercenary,  as  well  as  a 
revengeful  motive  in  this  treason,’  said  Rod¬ 
ney  with  some  surprise. 

‘  I  am  told  his  extravagant  style  of  living 


embarrassments,  that  he  has  resorted  to  shifts, 
as  trustee  of  public  funds,  that  have  laid  him 
open  to  suspicion,  and  lost  him  the  confidence 
of  Congress  ;  the  first  intimation  of  the  dis¬ 
pleasure  of  which,  was  conveyed  to  him  by 
the  promotion  of  five  major-generals  over  his 
head.  A  brave  officer  he  certainly  is ;  but 
nojexcess  of  physical  courage  can  atone  for 
the  want  of  moral  principle,  of  which  he 
seems  entirely  destitute.  He  is  proud,  vain, 
hasty  of  speech,  with  many  private  vices, 
which  he  has  vainly  hoped  to  gloss  over  by 
the  brilliancy  of  military  career.  In  this  he 
has  been  unsuccessful,  and  his  elevated  rank, 
only,  makes  the  more  conspicuous  the  man’s 
private  actions.  Smarting  under  mortifica¬ 
tion,  disgust,  and  the  stings  of  wounded  self- 
love,  he  has  determined  to  avenge  his  real  or 
fancied  wrongs  on  his  country,  and  has  re¬ 
solved  to  offer  her  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  in¬ 
jured  pride.  He  accordingly  wrote  to  me 
under  the  signature  of ‘  Gustavus,’  assuming, 
as  you  have  just  seen  in  the  paragraph  I  read 
to  you,  the  character  of  a  merchant.  This 
was  eighteen  months  ago.  The  correspon¬ 
dence  had  continued  for  a  twelve  month,  be¬ 
fore  I  could  arrive  at  any  probability  as  to 
who  he  might  be.  At  length,  being  confi¬ 
dent,  from  the  accuracy  and  importance  of 
his  information,  that  he  must  be  of  high  rank, 
and  a  member  of  Washington’s  councils  of 
war,  I  began  to  make  myself  acquainted  with 
the  characters  of  the  American  generals,  and 
investigate  their  histories,  to  discover  wliat 
sufficient  causes  of  dissatisfaction  existed, 
to  induce  any  one  of  them  to  turn  traitor  to 
his  country.  My  suspicions,  from  obvious 
reasons,  rested  on  General  Arnold,  and  we 
now  see  that  they  are  confirmed.  It  is  gold 
the  fgentleman  wants,  and  it  must  not  be 
withheld,  for  it  is  plain  he  will  not  stir  a  step 
without  being  paid  for  it.  I  must  send  An¬ 
dre  to  close  the  ‘bargain’  with  him,  forth¬ 
with.’ 

‘But,’  said  Admiral  Rodney,  ‘how  shall 
we  be  able  to  take  advantage  of  this  man’s 
treason?  We  cannot  plan  an  expedition  to 
take  possession  of  West  Point  in  secret,  and 
Washington  will  be  prompt  to  defeat  any 
scheme  for  which  we  make  open  preparations.’ 


have  long  coutemplated,  with  the  aid  of  your 
fleet,  an  expedition  to  the  Chesapeake.  This 
will  be  a  good  mask  to  cover  our  real  de¬ 
signs.  Under  this  feint,  we  must  prepare 
for  a  sudden  movement  up  the  Hudson.’ 

‘  Admirable.  I  second  it  with  all  my 
heart,’  exclaimed  Rodney. 

‘Tish  ver’  exshellant.  Ve  vill  take  te 
repel  vort  now,  Sir  Shorge  ant  Sir  Hen- 
ree.’ 

A  little  more  conversation  followed,  in 
which  the  steps  to  be  taken  for  bringing  the 
important  affair  to  a  crisis,  were  settled ;  the 
messenger  was  then  called  in  and  dismissed 
with  letters  to  Arnold,  when  the  two  gentle¬ 
men  took  their  departure,  to  make  prepara¬ 
tions  for  the  contemplated  movement  against 
West  Point,  and  promptly  second  the  treach¬ 
ery  of  its  commander. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


About  three  o’clock  the  following  after¬ 
noon,  a  sloop  of  war  got  under  weigh  in  the 
harbor  of  New  York,  and  spreading  sail  after 
sail,  stood  boldly  up  the  Hudson.  As  night 
approached  she  entered  the  Highlands,  and 
came  to  an  anchor  off  Verplank’s  Point,  and 
within  range  of  an  American  battery  thrown 
up  on  the  head  land. 

Her  progress  up  the  river  had  been  watch¬ 
ed  by  spectators  on  shore  with  apprehension 
not  unmingled  with  curiosity.  But  as  she 
stood  standing  on  her  course  without  mani¬ 
festing  any  hostile  purpose,  apparently  for 
the  purpose  of  opening  a  treaty  with  Wash¬ 
ington,  and  was  suffered  to  pass  the  several 
batteries  that  lined  the  shore  without  be¬ 
ing  fired  into. 

After  she  had  swung  round  to  her  anchor, 
and  her  sails  were  furled  and  a  double  watch 
set,  two  gentlemen  came  on  deck,  from 
which,  with  nign:-glasses  they  began  care¬ 
fully  to  reconnoitre  the  land.  One  of  them 
was  in  the  uniform  ef  an  English  Naval 
Captain,  and  was  the  commandei  of  the  ves¬ 
sel.  The  other  was  a  handsome  young  man, 
with  noble  features,  a  manly  and  elegant 


breeding.  He  was  dressed  as  a  British  Army 
officer,  and  his  bearing  was  marked  by  the 
frankness  of.  the  soldier,  tempered  with  the 
courtesy  of  an  accomplished  gentleman. — 
While  his  companion  constantly  kept  the 
glass  to  his  eye,  in  the  direction  of  the  west¬ 
ern  shore,  he  paced  the  deck  with  an  impa¬ 
tient  step.  At  length  he  paused  for  an  in¬ 
stant  to  glance  landward,  and  exclaimed  in 
a  dispassionate  tone : 

‘No  boat  yet,  Captain  ?  The  night  is  ad¬ 
vancing.’ 

‘  Nothing  in  sight  but  a  brace  of  rebel 
barges,  they  are  lying  off  and  on,  to  prevent 
us  communicating  with  the  shore.  They 
suspect  us  strongly  of  being  here  on  mis- 
“  chief,  and  the  good  dames  inland,  doubtless 
tremble  for  their  poultry  and  dairies.’ 

‘A  boat!’  cried  the  young  officer,  who, 
while  the  Captain  was  speaking,  had  placed 
the  glass  to  his  eye.  ‘It  is  putting  towards 
the  ship.  Ah!  By  Heaven!  all  is  lost!  The 
guard-boat  has  challenged  and  detained  it ! 
No,  they  are  permitted  to  pass,  and  are  rapid¬ 
ly  approaching  It  must  be  him  we  seek  !  I 
will  receive  him  in  your  state-room,  Suther¬ 
land.  I  have  some  papers  to  prepare  before¬ 
hand,  and  I  will  leave  to  you  the  honor  of  ush¬ 
ering  the  gentleman  below.’ 

The  officer  had  left  the  deck  but  a  few 
minutes,  when  the  watch  on  the  forecastle 
suddenly  sung  out  in  a  rough  stejm  voice, 
‘  Boat  ahoy !’ 

‘  Hulloa !’  was  the  distant  reply,  in  a  voice 
equally  hoarse. 

‘  What  boat  is  that  ?’ 

‘  Ferry-boat !’ 

‘  Is  this  the  way  you  come  athwart  His 
Majesty’s  hawser?’  growled  the  officer  of  the 
watch. 

‘  Order  that  boat  along  side !’  said  the  cap¬ 
tain  advancing  to  the  gangway. 

‘  Ay,  ay,  sir.’ 

The  boat  was  pulled  alertly  along  side, 
and  a  man  stepped  from  her  and  ascended  the 
side. 

‘Which  is  Mr.  John  Anderson,’  he  asked 
in  a  bold,  swaggeimg  manner. 

‘  If  you  have  business  with  any  one  on  board 
the  Vulture,  you  bear  some  token  from  him 


rogating. 

‘West  Point,’  said  the  man  in  a  subdued 
tone. 

‘  ’Tis  right.  Follow  me  below.’ 

‘Where  is  Gen -  the  principal?’  ex¬ 

claimed  the  young  officer,  on  seeing  a  rough, 
gigantic  fellow,  enter  the  cabin  behind  his 
friend. 

‘  On  shore,’  said  Smithson,  gruffly,  ‘  and 
bade  me  give  you  this  letter,  if  you  be  Mr. 
John  Anderson.’ 

‘  Give  it  me  !’  he  said  taking  it  from  his 
hesitating  hold  and  tearing  it  open.  ‘  This 
will  be  delivered  to  you,’  he  read,  ‘  by  Smith- 
son,  who  will  take  you  to  a  retired  place  on 
shore,  where  with  perfect  safety  to  yourself, 
we  can  confer  together  on  the  matters  touch¬ 
ing  your  mission  to  the  Highlands.  Gusta- 
vus.’ 

‘  Leave  the  ship !  By - no,  Andre,’  said 

the  Captain ;  I  allow  no  soul  on  board  the 
Vulture  to  put  foot  on  rebel  soil.  If  this 
General  wants  to  see  you,  he  must  come  here.’ 

‘  That  he  was  to  meet  me  on  board,  I  cer¬ 
tainly  understood  from  his  letter  to  Sir  Hen¬ 
ry,’  said  Andre;  ‘but  if  he  fears  to  trust  his 
person  with  us,  I  see  no  alternative  but  to  do 
as  he  desires.’ 

‘  Not  if  Henry  Sutherland  can  help  it  shall 
you  have  any  thing  to  do  with  his  proposition. 
If  you  are  caught  on  shore,  they’ll  hang  you 
as  sure  as  the  devil.  No,  no.  ’Twill  never 
do,  my  dear  boy.  Never!  If  he  wants  to  see 
you  let  him  come  and  see  you  here.’ 

‘My  dear  Sutherland,  the  advantages  in 
this  matter  are  not  his,  but  ours,  and  we  must 
not  calculate  risks  m  securing  them,  so  vast 
and  important  as  they  are  to  Hi§  Majesty’s 
arms.  My  own  life  is  nothing  weighed 
against  the  value  of  West  Point.  But  there 
is  no  need  of  sacrificing  life.  There  is  no 
danger  under  cover  of  night,  on  going  on 
shore  and  meeting  this  man  ;  an  hour’s  time 
will  suffice  for  the  interview,  and  I  shall  be 
on  board  again  by  two  hours  before  day¬ 
break.’ 

‘  Major  Andre,  I’ll  be - if  you  do.’ 

‘  Not  a  word,  Sutherland,’  said  the  officer 
playfully,  ‘  this  project  must  not  be  given  up 
at  a  time  when  it  is  about  to  be  crowned  with 


-  or  our'  long  pending’  negotiation  may  be 
gathered — when  the  hopes  of  General  Clin¬ 
ton  may  be  realized — when  the  reward  for 
■which  we  have  so  long  toiled,  may  be  reap¬ 
ed.  Fanciful  apprehensions  ought  to  have 
no  weight  with  me  now ;  nothing,  life  itself 
would  not  make  me  waver.  Every  thing  de¬ 
pends  on  me  this  night.  I  will  go  on  shore 
and  meet  Arnold.  I  see  no  great  risk  in  it, 
and  what  there  is,  I  cheerfully  encounter  for 
the  sake  of  the  object  I  have  in  view'.’ 

‘  Well,  do  as  you  will,  Andre.  I  have  no 
power  to  control  your  movements,  my  orders 
being  to  afford  you  every  means  of  achiev¬ 
ing  successfully  your  object.  If  you  must 
go, — go,  and  God  bless  you  !  but  I  fear  evil 
will  come  of  it.’ 


CHAPTER  V. 


Shortly  afterward  enveloped  in  a  blue 
great  coat,  which  entirely  hid  his  uniform, 
Andre  went  over  the  side  into  the  boat  ac¬ 
companied  by  Smithson,  and  in  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  they  were  lost  to  the  eyes  of  those  on 
deck  in  the  dark  shadows  of  the  shore.  In 
the  boat  was  a  negro,  who,  with  Smithson, 
pulled  actively  toward  the  land,  and  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  leaving  the  ship,  the 
little  skiff  shot  into  a  narrow  inlet,  shrouded 
by  the  beetling  cliffs,  in  impenetrable  gloom. 
Andre  instinctively  laid  his  hand  on  his  pis¬ 
tols  and  assumed  an  attitude  of  caution  and 
defence.  The  oars  were  laid  aside  as  they 
entered  the  creek,  and  the  men  drew'  the  boat 
some  distance  inland  under  the  branches  of 
the  over-hanging  trees.  At  length  they 
ceased  their  exertions. 

4  We  must  be  near  the  spot  now,  Sambo. 
Open  the  wdiites  of  your  eyes  and  look  sharp 
about  you.’ 

‘  ’Tis  so  goramity  dark,  massa  Jack,  nig¬ 
ger  no  see  one  debbil  bit.  Dis  look  wery 
like  de  place,  nebberdeless.  Chow' !  hear 
dat  bull  frog  close  here,  massa  Jack  P  1  hearn 
him  here  w'hen  we  left?  Ki!  ’tis  jis  de  place 
forsartain  sure.’ 


distance  off. 

4  Boat  it  is !’  answered  Smithson. 

4  Have  you  been  successful  ?’ 

4  He  is  here.’ 

An  exclamation  of  satisfaction  was  uttered  ; 
a  heavy  footstep  hastily  approached,  and  the 
indistinct  figure  of  a  man  appeared  on  the 
bank.  The  next  instant  a  dark  lantern  was 
sprung  by  him,  and  a  bright  light  shone  into 
the  boat,  exposing  the  occupant,  while  the 
individual  behind  it  remained  invisible. 

4  You  are  welcome,  Sir,’  said  the  stranger, 
after  a  moment’s  survey  of  the  party.  4  Smith- 
son  you  will  remain  in  charge  of  the  boat, 
and  take  it  round  to  where  I  have  directed 
you  to  meet  us.’ 

The  British  officer  now  landed.  The  greet¬ 
ing  between  the  two  persons  was  marked, 
by  haughtiness  on  one  part,  and  fawning 
courtesy  on  the  other.  The  words  of  the 
Englishman,  in  exchanging  salutations,  were 
few  and  brief.  The  other,  who  was  a  stout 
gentlemanly  looking  man,  with  a  decided 
military  air,  without  noticing  his  manner, 
passed  his  arm  through  his,  and  led  him  by 
the  light  of  the  lantern  a  few  yards  from  the 
boat  to  the  forest  path,  in  which  stood  twm 
saddled  horses  tied  to  a  tree. 

4  You  will  mount  one  of  these  horses,  if 
you  please,  Sir,’  said  the  stranger,  who,  it  is 
perhaps  unnecessary  to  say,  was  General  Ar¬ 
nold. 

4  How  mean  you,  General  Arnold?’  de¬ 
manded  Andre,  in  surprise:  ‘is  not  our  in¬ 
terview  to  take  place  here  ?’ 

4  So  far  as  conversation  goes  it  might,  Sir. 
But  I  have  a  portion  of  correspondence,  sev¬ 
eral  important  documents,  plans  of  corres¬ 
pondence,  and  other  papers  necessary  to  our 
purpose,  to  exhibit  to  you.  For  these  we 
must  have  lights  and  the  privacy  of  a  room.’ 

4  Well.’ 

4  A  short  distance  from  this  place  is  a  re¬ 
tired  house,  tenanted  by  Smithson.  He  is 
away,  and  there  wre  shall  be  private.  I  have 
brought  these  horses  that  we  may  ride  thither.’ 

After  hesitating  an  instant,  the  young  En¬ 
glishman,  as  if  determined  to  risk  everything 
to  effect  the  object  of  his  mission,  said  ab- 
ruptly, 4  Mount,  Sir,  I  attend  you.’ 


For  a  few  moments  they  threaded  the  for¬ 
est-path,  and  then  emerged  into  a  high  road, 
where  their  way,  from  the  absence  of  trees, 
became  lighter.  They  rode  forward  in  si¬ 
lence,  for  neither  (the  one,  probably  from 
‘'contempt,  the  other  from  shame  at  the  de¬ 
grading-  part  he  was  playing)  felt  disposed  to 
converse,  except  on  the  topic  that  had  brought 
two  such  opposite  spirits  in  contact,  and  this 
had  been  mutually  deferred  until  their  arri¬ 
val  at  the  place  of  their  destination.  Sud¬ 
denly  the  dark  meditations  of  Arnold,  and  the 
pleasing  recollections  of  England,  with  which 
the  light-hearted  Andre  was  beguiling  the 
way,  were  interrupted  by  the  stern  challenge 
of  a  sentinel,  a  few  yards  in  advance.  An¬ 
dre  looked  up  and  saw  that  they  were  just 
entering  a  small  village. 

‘  Friends !’  replied  Arnold. 

‘Advance  and  give  the  countersign.’ 

‘  Congress .’ 

‘Pass,  friends.’ 

All  this  passed  like  a  dream  to  Andre’s 
senses.  In  an  instant  however,  he  realized 
the  full  extent  of  his  danger,  reined  in  his 
horse  and  half  turned  to  fly.  Arnold’s  hand 
was  instantly  laid  on  his  bridal.  ‘  This  is 
no  time  to  waver.  Ride  on  with  me.  There 
is  no  danger  to  a  cool-head  and  resolute  spir¬ 
it.’ 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  low  or  hur¬ 
ried  tone  close  to  Andre’s  ear.  A  moment’s 
reflection  convinced  him  that  it  was  vain  to 
think  of  retreating,  and  that  his  only  alter¬ 
native  now,  was  to  meet  the  emergencies  of 
his  situation  with  coolness  and  presence  of 
mind.  He  therefore  rode  on,  simply  saying, 
in  a  tone  of  calm  and  dignified  reproof,  ‘  You 
did  not  tell  me,  Sir,  that  you  were  about  to 
conduct  me  within  the  American  lines,  else 
I  should  have  insisted  on  coming  to  terms 
with  you  where  we  landed,  and  not  so  im¬ 
prudently  risked  my  liberty,  and  perhaps  my 
life.’ 

‘  I  presume  you  placed  that  confidence  in 
my  honor,  Major  Andre,  which  have  render¬ 
ed  such  an  intimation  gratuitous.  With  a 
passport  signed  by  me,  you  are  aware,  that 
you  can  return  whenever  you  please.’ 

Andre  said  nothing :  but  the  curl  of  his 
lip  at  the  mention  of  *  honor,’  would  have 


conveyed  more  to  his  companion,  had  it  been 
light  enough  for  him  to  have  seen  the  ex¬ 
pression  of  his  features,  than  a  volume  of  ver¬ 
bal  replies. 

In  a  few  moments  afterward  they  arrived 
at  a  low  farm  house,  with  a  paling-  running- 
along  the  front.  As  they  dismounted  they 
were  startled  by  a  heavy  cannonading  from 
the  river,  but  some  distance  below. 

‘We  are  detected,’  exclaimed  Arnold, 
‘that  firing  is  at  the  Vulture.’ 

The  two  gentlemen  hastily  ascended  the 
steps  ef  the  portico,  and  looked  southward. 
A  league  below  (for  that  distance  had  Ar¬ 
nold  led  Andre  from  his  ship)  they  saw  the 
Vulture  apparently  wrapped  in  flames,  from 
the  blaze  of  incessant  discharges  of  artillery, 
both  from  the  shore  and  her  own  decks.  From 
the  batteries  of  Verplank’s  Point,  they  beheld 
a  long  line  of  guns  belching  forth  fire,  the 
glare  of  which  illuminated  land  and  water 
far  and  wide,  while  by  the  light  of  her  own 
guns  they  distinguished  every  spar  and  rope 
of  the  sloop  of  war  as  distinctly  as  at  noon¬ 
day. 

‘Good  God!  all  is  discovered — all  is  lost!’ 
cried  Arnold.  ‘  To  horse !’ 

‘  Hold  !’  said  Andre,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
arm,  ‘  you  need  fear  nothing.  The  Ameri¬ 
cans  think  the  sloop  lies  too  near  the  shore 
for  their  good,  and  are  firing  to  compel  her 
to  change  her  position.  See,  she  is  already 
making  sail.’ 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer  they  anx¬ 
iously  watched  the  movements  of  the  vessel, 
which,  after  returning  the  fire  of  the  Ameri¬ 
cans  by  a  few  broadsides,  got  under  weigh, 
and  still  visible  by  the  blaze  from  the  guns 
on  shore,  slowly  dropped  down  the  river,  and 
came  to  anchor  some  distance  below,  and 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  batteries.  Satisfied 
that  his  conjectures  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
firing  were  correct,  he  turned  to  Arnold,  and 
said, 

‘  It  will  only  be  a  longer  pull  back  for  that 
black  bearded  esquire  of  yours,  General  Ar¬ 
nold,  with  a  little  unwelcome  day  light  to  help 
him,  too,  I  fear,  unless  we  can  briefly  des¬ 
patch  our  business.’ 


Without  replying,  General  Arnold  led 
the  way  up  stairs,  by  the  light  of  his  dark- 
lantern,  and  ushered  Andre  into  a  small  room, 
the  door  of  which  he  carefully  closed  and  se¬ 
cured;  then  cautiously  examining  the  apart¬ 
ment  to  see  that  there  was  no  intruder  on 
their  privacy,  he  placed  the  light  on  a  small 
table,  and  motioning  to  his  guest  to  take  one 
of  two  chairs  placed  by  it,  he  seated  himself 
in  the  other,  and  proceeded  to  lay  on  the  ta¬ 
ble  several  papers  which  he  drew  from  a  con¬ 
cealed  pocket  in  the  breast  of  his  surtout. 
While  thus  engaged,  Andre  sat  silently  sur¬ 
veying  his  features.  They  were  cast  in  a 
noble  mould.  But  the  lofty  forehead  was 
contracted,  and  scowling  with  the  dark  and 
uneasy  thoughts  of  the  mind  within;  the 
well-formed  mouth  was  compressed  with 
gloomy  determination,  and  his  fine  eyes,  in 
which  nature  had  secreted  the  power  that 
controls  and  commands  men,  were  restless, 
and  shunned  the  calm  gaze  of  his  compan¬ 
ion’s. 

‘  I  am  now  ready,  Major  Andre,’  said  Gen¬ 
eral  Arnold,  after  arranging  his  papers  on  the 
table,  ‘  to  listen  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton’s  propo¬ 
sition.’ 

Andre  continued  to  survey  him  for  an  in¬ 
stant  longer,  and  then  replied,  with  a  look  in 
which  scorn  and  pity  were  equally  mingled. 
‘  These  shall  be  laid  before  you  when  you 
have  detailed  the  mode  by  which  you  can 
favor  His  Majesty’s  arms.’ 

‘  I  can  read  the  meaning  of  your  glance, 
Major  Andre,’  said  Arnold,  slightly  coloring, 
‘  and  appreciate  your  estimation  of  me  in  re¬ 
lation  to  the  part  I  am  about  to  act.  But  I 
have  weighed  all  this  well.  I  am  prepared 
to  meet  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  gentlemen, 
so  that  the  personal  feelings  that  I  have  in 
this  matter  are  gratified.  Major  Andre,  I  am 
an  injured  man.  I  have  repeatedly  fought  for, 
and  five  times  shed  my  blood  in  defence  of 
my  country,  and  she  has  rewarded  me,  not 
only  with  contumely  and  neglect,  but  with 
open  insult.  It  is  useless  for  me  to  unfold  to 
you  the  tissue  of  causes  by  which  I  have  been 
goaded  on  to  this  step.  It  is  enough,  that  I 


loivea  on  it,  ana  tor  nearly  two 
'years  have  been  slowly  but  surely  laying  the 
foundation  for  its  completion.  I  have  now 
reached  the  point  when  deliberation  or  re¬ 
pentance  are  alike  vain.  When  I  resolved 
to  repay  my  country  for  the  wrongs  she  had 
loaded  me  with,  it  only  remained  to  decide 
the  best  means  of  doing  it,  so  that  I  could 
bring  about  advantage  to  myself,  as  well  as 
injury  to  the  cause,  I  was  about  to  desert. 
My  reward  from  the  crown,  I  was  aware, 
would  be  measured  by  the  injury  I  inflicted 
on  its  enemies.  It  occurred  that  I  could  ac¬ 
complish  my  object  through  West  Point.  So 
soon  as  this  idea  occurred  to  me,  I  directed 
all  my  efforts  to  get  appointed  commander  at 
this  important  post.  I  have  succeeded.  It 
is  now  in  my  hands,  and  shall  be  transferred 
to  those  of  General  Clinton,  provided  that’ — 
here  the  arch-traitor  hesitated  and  looked 
down,  but  the  next  instant  continued  with 
assumed  indifference,  ‘  provided  that  the 
price  I  name  for  my  services  shall  be  agreed 
to.’ 

‘Name  it,  sir.’ 

‘  One  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling, 
in  five  quarterly  payments,  one  quarter  in 
hand,  and  the  rank  of  Major  General  in  the 
British  Army.’ 

‘Your  services  should  be  great  to  merit 
this,  sir.’ 

‘  Let  us  weigh  one  against  the  other,  and 
see  which  will  kick  the  beam,’  he  said,  with 
a  faint  attempt  to  laugh  and~appear  at  his 
ease. 

Unrolling  a  small  chart,  he  spread  it  on 
the  table  with  the  self-satisfied  air  of  a  man 
who  expects  to  give  surprize.  ‘  Here,’  he 
said,  displaying  the  map,  which  was  covered 
with  lines  of  fortifications,  ‘  here  is  a  plan  of 
the  works  at  West  Point.  You  will  perceive 
on  inspecting  it,  that  besides  the  principal 
fort,  there  are  three  lines  of  fortifications  be¬ 
tween  the  river  and  the  summit  of  the  inner¬ 
most  range  of  highlands,  composed  of  upwards 
of  forty  redoubts.  But  this  map  will  serve 
only  to  give  you  a  general  outline  of  the 
works.  Here  is  a  paper  that  will  show  the 
number  of  men  stationed  at  each,  with  the 
amount  of  military  stores  and  provisions. 
Here  is  a  third,  showing  the  easiest  paths 


and  means  of  access.  On  examination,  it 
will  sufficiently  explain  itself.  Here  is  a 
fourth,  containing  the  artillery  orders,  which 
have  just  been  published  at  West  Point, 
showing  how  each  corps  shall  dispose  of  it¬ 
self  in  case  of  alarm.  This  you  will  find  of 
vast  importance,  as  it  will  enable  you  to  know 
the  precise  condition  of  every  part  of  the  gar¬ 
rison  when  you  attack.  Here  is  a  fifth  docu¬ 
ment,  in  which  you  will  find  an  estimate  of 
the  forces  at  the  different  posts.  This,  mark¬ 
ed  F.  No.  VI.,  will  show  how  many  men  it 
will  take  to  man  the  -works.  In  this,  num¬ 
bered  G-  VIL,  you  will  find  a  return  of  the 
ordnance  in  the  different  forts,  redoubts  and 
batteries  ;  also  remarks  on  the  works,  descri¬ 
bing  the  construction  of  each,  and  its  strong 
and  weak  points.  Lastly,  here  is  a  report  of 
the  last  council  of  war  held  at  head  quarters ; 
and  it  contains  hints  written  with  pencil  in 
the  margin,  representing  the  probable  ope¬ 
rations  of  the  campaign.  I  yesterday  receiv¬ 
ed  it  from  General  Washington  himself.’ 

As  he  finished  speaking,  he  laid  the  re¬ 
maining  papers  of  the  packet  on  the  table, 
and  looked  up  with  an  air  of  triumph.  As 
he  anticipated,  the  expression  of  the  young 
soldier’s  countenance  was  that  of  undisguised 
astonishment  and  gratification. 

‘Place those  papers  in  my  possession*  and 
carry  out  in  your  person  the  spirit  of  them  to 
the  letter,  and  the  reward  you  have  named 
shall  be  yours,’  said  Andre,  with  animation. 

Arnold  coldly  smiled,  and  said,  ‘  It  shall 
be  mine  to  see  that  the  post  at  West  Point 
is  weakened  by  such  a  disposition  of  the 
troops  as  shall  leave  but  a  small  force  for  its 
defence.  At  those  points  most  inaccessible, 

I  have  ordered  scaling  ladders,  (ostensibly 
for  a  very  different  purpose,)  to  be  construct¬ 
ed  in  the  forest,  where,  at  the  place  marked 
with  an  X  on  the  plan,  you  will  find  them 
piled  up  ready  for  use.  What  think  you, 
Major  Andre— is  it  well  planned  ?’ 

‘  It  is  most  skilfully  planned,  sir,’  said  the 
young  man,  lost  in  wonder  at  this  perfection 
of  treason. 

It  is,  sir.  But  it  remains  to  be  ably  sec¬ 
onded  on  the  part  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  The 
only  obstacle  to  its  success  will  be  the  dif¬ 
ficulty  of  openly  embarking  troops  on  the 


Hudson,  without  its  object  being  suspected. 
The  vigilance  of  Washington  never  sleeps !’ 
As  he  spoke  these  last  words,  his  voice  fell, 
and  he  looked  hurriedly  about,  as  if  he  felt 
or  feared  his  presence. 

‘  This  difficulty  is  easily  settled,’  said  An¬ 
dre,  slightly  smiling  at  the  sudden  change  in 
his  manner.  4  Under  the  pretext  of  an  expe¬ 
dition  to  the  Chesapeake,  of  which,  doubtless 
you  have  heard  some  rumors,  troops  are  now 
embarking  in  Rodney’s  fleet.  By  to-morrow 
morning  there  will  be  eight  thousand  on 
ship-board,  ready  to  ascend  the  river  at  a 
moment’s  warning.’ 

Then  is  success  certain.  As  soon  as  it 
shall  be  known  that  your  ships  are  approach¬ 
ing,  I  shall  dispatch  parties  from  the  garri¬ 
son  to  the  gorges  in  the  hills,  and  other  re¬ 
mote  passes,  under  the  pretence  of  stopping 
the  advance  of  the  enemy  in  those  quarters. 
There  I  intend  they  shall  remain  until  your 
troops  have  landed,  and  marched  to  the  gar¬ 
rison  through  other  passes,  where  there  will 
be  left  no  troops  to  oppose  them.’ 

4 1  cannot  refrain  from  complimenting  you, 
sir,  on  the  masterly  manner  in  which  you 
have  laid  your  plans  ;  it  is  the  perfection  of5 
— Andre  hesitated,  when  Arnold  completed 
the  sentence — ‘  of  treason.  So  be  it,  sir.  If 
I  bring  about  my  ends,  I  care  not  what  name 
men  give  it.’ 

The  terms  of  his  treachery  having  been 
agreed  on,  Arnold  now  carefully  divided  the 
papers  in  two  equal  parcels,  while  Andre 
filled  out  a  carte  blanche  previously  signed 
and  delivered  to  him  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
for  this  purpose,  in  which  the  terms  of  Gen¬ 
eral  Arnold  were  acceded  to,  on  the  fulfil¬ 
ment  of  the  conditions  implied  therein.  He 
gave  this,  covering  a  check  for  twenty  thou¬ 
sand  pounds  sterling,  to  Arnold,  and  receiv¬ 
ed  from  him  in  return,  the  papers  in  two  par¬ 
cels,  which,  at  the  urgent  desire  of  Arnold, 
who  manifested  the  greatest  anxiety  for  their 
security,  he  placed  separately  between  his 
stockings  and  feet,  drawing  his  boots  on 
over  all. 

General  Arnold  now  pleaded  the  necessity 
of  returning  forthwith  to  his  quarters  at  the 
I  Beverly  House,  opposite  West  Point;  and 
i  delaying  only  long  enough  to  fill  out  a  pass- 


way  to  his  boat,  he,  a  few  moments  after¬ 
wards,  took  his  leave  of  him  before  the  house, 
and  galloped  rapidly  northward. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


‘  So  the  gen’ral’s  off  with  a  thankee,’  said 
a  voice  in  not  the  best  humored  tones  in  the 
world.  Andre  turned  round  and  beheld 
Smithson. 

‘  Ha !  boatswain,’  said  he,  quickly,  ‘  you 
are  in  good  time.  Lose  not  a  moment  in 
conveying  me  on  board  the  Vulture.’ 

‘  There  are  two  parties  to  that  bargain,’ 
said  the  man,  in  an  indifferent  manner,  pro¬ 
ceeding  to  place  his  oars  in  beckets  on  the  j 
portico. 

‘  What,  fellow.’ 

‘  Fellow  not  me,’  said  the  boatswain,  dog¬ 
gedly  ;  ‘lam  at  no  man’s  beck  and  bidding. 

I  have  my  reasons  for  serving  the  General, 
but  am  not  every  man’s  servant,  you  may  de¬ 
pend.  If  you  want  to  get  back  to  your  ship, 
you  have  arms,  and  can  pull  an  oar,  I  reckon, 
as  well’s  another  body.’ 

Annoyed  and  irritated  at  the  unexpected 
position  asssumed  by  his  guide,  Andre  paced 
the  ground  a  few  seconds,  reflecting  upon  his 
situation,  and  deliberating  on  the  course  he 
should  pursue :  then  turning  to  the  man,  who 
was  removing  his  thick  overcoat  with  great 
deliberation,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  mild  en¬ 
treaty — > 

‘  Smithson,  my  good  fellow,  take  this  gold, 
aud  conduct  me  to  your  boat.’ 

‘  Mr.  John  Anderson,  what  Jack  Smithson 
wont  do  for  favor,  he  wont  do  for  gold.  Be¬ 
sides,  I  have  been  up  all  night,  and  I  want 
sleep.  The  Vulture  lays  full  two  leagues 
below,  and  it  would  be  broad  day  before  I 
could  reach  her.  No,  no,  nothing  less  than 
the  General’s  orders  will  make  me  put  oar  in 
row-lock  this  night.’ 

‘  Fat^I  negligence  on  the  part  of  Arnold, 
not  to  leave  instructions  to  this  effect,’  said 
Andre,  bitterly.  Turning  full  upon  the  man, 
he  suddenly  drew  a  pistol  and  levelled  it  at 


swear 

to  guide  me  to  your  boat,  or  you  are  a  dead 
man.’ 

‘  Is  this  your  game  ?  ha !’  said  Smithson, 
with  a  laugh,  quickly  seizing  the  muzzle  of 
the  pistol  in  his  gigantic  grasp,  and  turning 
it  upward — ‘  now,  Mr.  Anderson,  if  you  are 
wise,  you’d  best  put  up  that  play  thing,  for  1 
am  not  a-going  to  be  frightened  at  such  things 
as  them.  Good  night.’  Thus  speaking,  he 
released  his  hold  of  the  pistol,  and  entered 
the  dwelling. 

Mortified  at  his  want  of  success,  indignant 
at  the  supposed  carelessness  of  Arnold,  and 
not  a  little  alarmed  at  the  danger  of  being 
discovered  within  the  American  lines,  the 
young  man  stood  still  for  a  moment  with  in¬ 
decision.  Then  approaching  a  light  Smith- 
son  had  placed  in  a  window,  he  unfolded  Ar¬ 
nold’s  passport,  which  he  had  not  yet  exam¬ 
ined,  to  see  to  what  extent  it  could  protect 
him.  To  his  surprize  and  infinite  relief,  he 
saw  that  there  were  two  passports,  one  autho¬ 
rizing  him  to  return  to  New-York  by  land, 
the  other  by  water,  wiih  duplicates  for  Smith- 
son,  who  was  directed  to  see  Mr.  John  An¬ 
derson  safe  beyond  the  American  lines. 

With  a  face,  from  which  all  traces  of  anx¬ 
iety  had  disappeared,  he  entered  the  room 
and  placed  the  passport  in  Smithson’s  hands. 
The  man  read  them  twice  over  with  the  most 
annoying  deliberation,  and  without  speaking, 
placed  his  own  passport  in  his  pocket,  and 
returned  the  others,  resumed  his  dread¬ 
nought  and  flapped  hat,  walked  out  of  the 
house,  and  gazed  steadily  at  the  eastern  skies 
for  a  few  seconds,  when  he  spoke : 

‘  Mr.  Anderson,  it  will  be  day  break  in 
twenty-  minutes.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  get 
back  to  the  V ulture,  for  it’s  flood  tide,  and 
blowing  a  dead  head  wind.  The  best  oars¬ 
man  on  the  Hudson,  couldn’t  pull  to  her  be¬ 
fore  ten  o’clock,  and  during  that  time,  there’s 
no  knowing  what  might  happen  to  us.  I 
wouldn’t  like  to  trust  myself  in  a  boat,  for 
there  are  boat-rowers  along  shore  that  little 
care  for  passports.  We  must  ride  to  King’s 
Ferry,  just  above  here,  and  cross  to  Ver- 
planck’s  Point,  and  so  go  down  on  the  west 
side,  if  you  want  to  get  to  New-York. 

After  putting  a  few  questions  to  him  An- 


dre  was  satisfied  that  the  danger  by  land  was 
less  than  by  river,  and  that  there  remained  no 
alternative  but  to  take  the  land  route. 

Hitherto  he  had  worn  his  uniform  conceal¬ 
ed,  even  from  Smithson,  beneath  his  great 
coat ;  hut  he  saw  the  danger  of  travelling  in 
this  manner,  and  the  necessity  of  appearing 
simply  as  a  plain  citizen.  To  effect,  this 
change,  it  became  necessary  to  make  a  con¬ 
fidant,  in  some  sort,  of  his  guide. 

‘  Smithson,’  he  said,  as  the  other  was  busi¬ 
ly  saddling  a  second  horse,  ‘  if  you  have  a 
worn  coat,  I  should  like  to  exchange  mine 
for  it,  as  I  fear  the  one  I  wear  may  subject 
me  to  suspicions.’  As  he  spoke,  he  approach¬ 
ed  the  light  in  the  window,  and  threw  open 
his  surtout. 

The  eyes  of  the  man  opened  with  surprize 
as  they  fell  on  the  dazzling  uniform  of  a  Bri¬ 
tish  officer  of  high  rank. 

‘  By  all  that’s  good,’  he  said,  advancing, 
‘this  is  a  discovery.  A  British  officer  in 
the - ’ 

‘  Hush,  my  dear  fellow,’  said  Andre,  affect¬ 
ing  the  voice  and  manner  of  an  exquisite — 

‘  a — a — you  see  a — Mr.  Smithson — that  we 
young  fellows,  a — that  is  you  know — we  like 
to  dress  gaily — ’ 

‘  Well.’ 

4  Why — a  foolish  vanity,  a — that  is  all — 
nothing  more  I  assure  you — I  thought  I  might 
fall  in  with  some  of  the  pretty  rustics — Ha, 
ha,  ha!  you  understand  me  Smithson,  my 
good  fellow,  ha? — and  so  I  borrowed  this 
coat  of  an  old  acquaintance.  You  take,  ha?’ 

‘  Confound  your  gibberish,’  muttered  Smith- 
son,  and  then  added  in  a  tone  of  supreme  con- 


away  from  the  house  at  a  fast  trot,  and  in  the 
direction  of  King’s  Ferry. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


tempt:  ‘Yes,  I  understand.’  From  that  mo¬ 
ment,  Mr.  Smithson  set  down  Mr.  Anderson 
as  one  of  the  genus  between  the  ourang- 
outang  and  human.  Whether  the  young 
man  succeeded  in  blinding  him  altogether 
was  doubtful ;  but  he  made  no  further  re¬ 
mark,  and  went  into  the  house  with  the  gor¬ 
geous  uniform  in  his  hands,  and  returned 
with  a  claret  colored  coat,  and  nankeen  waist¬ 
coat,  which  Andre  put  on,  covering  his  head 
with  a  round  hat,  and  wrapping  himself  again 
in  his  blue  over  coat  In  a  few  minutes  the 
horses  were  ready,  and  mounting,  they  moved 


About  nine  o’clock  the  morning  following 
these  events,  on  a  broad  hill-side  that  swept 
from  a  ridge  half  a  mile  from  the  Hudson  to 
its  shores,  and  within  sight  of  the  village  of 
Tarrytown,  a  foraging  party  consisting  of 
three  yeomen  were  seated  on  the  ground  be¬ 
neath  a  tree,  playing  at  cards.  The  tree 
stood  a  little  retired  from  a '  public  road, 
which  coming  from  the  village  below,  wound 
across  the  face  of  the  hill  and  disappeared 
over  the  ridge  towards  the  interior,  Each  of 
them  had  a  powder  horn  and  shot  pouch 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  while  a  musket  lay 
across  the  knees  of  one,  and  a  rifle  and  long 
ducking-gun  stood  against  a  tree  where  ap¬ 
parently  they  had  been  placed  by  the  others 
to  leave  them  more  at  liberty  to  pursue  their 
pastime. 

Although  intent  on  their  games,  every  few 
seconds  they  lifted  their  heads,  and  took  a 
keen  survey  of  the  road. 

‘  Trumps !’  exclaimed  one  slapping  the  card 
down  upon  his  brawny  thigh. 

‘It’s  your  trick,  John,  by  the  living  Jeru¬ 
salem  !’  cried  he  with  the  musket. 

‘  Luck’s  agin  me  this  mornin’,  boys,’  said 
the  third,  a  stout  built  jolly  faced  farmer, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  globular  nose 
on  which  was  scored  in  carmine  many  a  deep 
potation  ;  ‘  I’ll  into  the  road  and  see  if  I  can’t 
find  some  luck  with  game  of  another  sort.’ 

‘  If  you  can  light  on  one  of  them  tory  cow¬ 
boys,  Ike,  we  are  on  the  look  out  for,  driving 
any  Yankee  cattle  to  make  beef  for  John 
Bull’s  carcass  down  in  York,  I’ll  give  up 
every  copper  I’ve  won  on  ye,’  said  the  first 
speaker,  a  thin  cadaverous  looking  man  with 
long  legs  and  long  hair. 

‘Then  fork  out,  Davy,  for  here  comes  a 
prize  as  good,  or  may  I  never  take  aim  at  the 
sun  with  the  butt  end  of  a  quart-pot.’ 

The  men  sprung  to  their  feet,  seized  their 
guns,  and  joined  their  comrade  in  the  wood. 

‘  Whose  cut  and  deal  is  this  %  said  the 


speaker  pointing  up  the  road,  along  which  a  >  red  him  on  as  if  he  would  pass  him  at  full 


single  horseman  was  advancing  at  the  best 
speed  he  could  get  out  of  a  jaded  horse. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  there  was 
a  tract  of  country  along  the  east  bank  of  the 
Hudson  between  the  American  and  British 
lines,  called  the  neutral  ground,  thirty  miles 
wide.  By  a  law  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
any  person  was  authorized  to  seize  and  con¬ 
vert  to  his  own  use,  all  horses,  cattle  or  beef 
that  should  be  driven  across  it  southward  to¬ 
wards  the  British  lines  if  it  was  taken  within 
ten  miles  of  these  lines.  The  consequence 
was  that  the  whole  of  the  neutral  ground  was 
closely  watched  by  the  inhabitants,  who  sal¬ 
lied  from  their  homes  in  small  parties  and 
waylaid  the  highroads :  so  that  it  was  difficult 
for  the  cow-boys,  whose  occupation  was  steal¬ 
ing  cows  from  the  ‘  lower  camp,’  to  get  with 
their  booty  safely  across  the  debateable  land. 
Stragglers  and  all  suspicious  persons  were 
also  stopped  and  made  to  give  an  account  of 
themselves,  and  occasionally  peaceful  travel¬ 
lers  were  civilly  invited  to  pay  toll  of  a  few 
dollars  to  some  of  these  guardians  of  the  roads, 
who  were  not  over  nice  in  their  distinction 
between  those  who  drove  horses,  and  those 
who  rode  upon  them.  With  this  explanation 
the  character  of  the  party  will  be  readily 
seen. 

‘  He’s  a  gentleman-like  looking  chap,’  said 
he  of  the  carmine  nose,  who  had  been  called 
Ike;  ‘broadcloth  and  boots,  and  a  heavy 
purse,  I’ll  warrant  me.’ 

‘  You’re  always  thinkin’  o’  the  purses,  Ike,’ 
said  he  of  the  long  limbs ;  ‘  I  wouldn’t  won¬ 
der  if  natur’  hadn’t  g’enye  a  spice  o’  the  foot¬ 
pad  in  your  liver.  Come,  John,  suppose  you 
step  out  and  speak  to  him,’  he  said,  address¬ 
ing  the  winner  at  cards,  a  substantial  respec¬ 
table  looking  young  farmer,  ‘  if  Ike  does  it,  it 
will  be  like  your  regular  banditti,  one  o’ your 
touch  and  go.  We  must  stand  by  the  honor 
o’  the  country  at  all  odds.’ 

The  one  addressed  stepped  in  advance  of 
his  comrades  towards  the  horseman,  who  was 
looking,  as  he  rode,  earnestly  towards  a  ves¬ 
sel  of  war  some  miles  above  the  river,  and 
did  not  see  the  man  until  he  came  within 
twenty  paces  of  him,  Avhen  he  suddenly 
checked  his  horse  ;  the  next  instant  he  spur- 


speed,  reined  up  before  the  glittering  bayon¬ 
et  levelled  at  his  chest,  and  then,  making  a 
demi-volte  across  the  road  buried  his  spurs 
deep  and  would  have  dashed  past,  but  the 
cool  yeoman  caught  the  animal  firmly  by  the 
nostrils  and  checked  him  so  suddenly  as  to 
throw  him  backward  nearly  upon  his  haun¬ 
ches. 

‘It  was  well  done,  sir,’  said  the  yeoman, 

‘  no  doubt  you  are  in  a  hurry,  but  then  we 
want  to  become  a  little  acquainted  with  you 
before  you  travel  farther.  The  times  are  out 
of  joint,  and  we  know  not  true  men  from  bad.’ 

The  stranger  was  enveloped  in  a  blue  great 
coat  buttoned  to  the  neck,  with  nankeen 
breeches  and  military  boots  and  an  ordinary 
black  coat ;  and  had  that  indescribable  air 
and  manner  that  betrays  under  the  meanest 
disguises,  the  gentleman  and  the  soldier. 

‘  Gentlemen,’  he  said,  in  a  collected  manner, 
as  the  rest  of  the  party  came  up,  ‘  I  hope  you 
belong  to  our  party.’ 

‘  Which  party  ?’  asked  the  first. 

‘  The  lower  party.’ 

‘  Ay,  ay,  that  we  do,  don’t  we,  Davy  ?’  said 
the  knight  of  the  carmine. 

‘  To  be  sure !  what  else  does  the  gentle¬ 
man  think?’  replied  he  of  the  long  hair, 
winking  at  his  fellow. 

I  am  glad  to  learn  it,’  replied  Major  An¬ 
dre,  whom  the  reader  has  already  recognized. 
From  Smithson’s  house  he  had  crossed  King’s 
Ferry,  and  ridden  southward  along  the  east 
ern  side  under  the  guidance  of  Smithson,  and 
only  dismissed  him  a  few  miles  back  when  he 
entered  the  neutral  ground,  where  he  con¬ 
sidered  himself  comparatively  secure.  From 
the  top  of  the  ridge  above  alluded  to,  he  des¬ 
cried  the  Vulture,  a  few  miles  above  where 
she  had  anchored  beyond  the  fire  of  the  Ame¬ 
rican  batteries.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  get  some  one  to  take  him  on  board 
from  the  village,  whereby  he  should  be  saved 
the  fatigue  and  danger  of  a  long  ride  of  ten 
miles  to  the  British  lines.  His  spirits  hither¬ 
to  depressed  by  the  loneliness  of  the  road, 
and  the  extreme  peril  of  his  situation,  became 
elevated  at  the  prospect,  and  urging  his  horse 
forward  he  found  himself  all  at  once  in  the 
midst  of  an  ambuscade.  ‘Gentlemen,’  he 


continued,  ‘  I  am  gratified  to  knoAv  that  you 
are  friends,  for  I  am  a  British  officer  absent 
from  New  York  on  particular  busines,  and  I 
beg  you  will  not  detain  me,  suspecting  me 
to  be  other  than  I  say  I  am.’  As  he  spoke 
he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  richly  chased  gold 
watch  and  anxiously  consulted  it. 

£  Ay  ay,  Paulding,  he’s  a  British  by  his 
yeller  gimcranks,’  said  Isaac ;  ‘  we  Yankees 
are  too  pesky  poor  to  have  sich  gear — Gen¬ 
eral  Washington  himself  only  fobs  a  silver 
turnip.’ 

‘  You  must  dismount,  sir,’  said  the  sturdy 
yeoman  sternly. 

‘  My  God !  I  must  do  anything  to  get  along, 
my  good  fellows  !  Here  is  General  Arnold’s 
pass,  that,  perhaps,  you  may  respect  if  you 
do  not  a  British  officer.’ 

‘  Dismount,  sir,  and  we  will  read  it,’  said 
Paulding,  who  still  held  the  horse  by  his  nos¬ 
trils.  ‘  We  have  no  idea  of  letting  you  es¬ 
cape  ’till  we  know  your  business.’ 

*  Hold  on  like  death  to  a  dead  nigger,  John,’ 
said  Ike  of  the  nose,  as  the  horse  grew  rest¬ 
ive  under  the  gripe,  ‘gold  watches  don’t 
grow  in  everybody’s  corn-patch.’ 

‘  Gentlemen,  you  had  best  let  me  go  or  you 
will  get  yourselves  into  trouble.  Examine 
this  pass.  Be  brief!  for  I  have  been  too 
long  detained  already.’ 

‘  I  cannot  read  until  you  dismount,’  said 
Paulding,  holding  the  closed  paper  in  one 
hand. 

Andre  sprung  lightly  from  the  saddle  to 
the  ground,  when  the  yeoman  released  his 
gripe  on  the  horse,  passed  the  bridle  beneath 
his  arm,  and  opened  the  passport.  ‘  I  hope 
you’ll  not  be  offended,  sir,’  he  said  with  the 
air  of  respect,  which  he  had  hitherto  preserv¬ 
ed,  notwithstanding  his  resolute  manner,  ‘  but 
there  are  spies  and  other  dangerous  people 
abroad,  and  I  only  want  to  know  if  you  are  a 
true  man.  If  you  are  proved  to  be,  why 
there’3no  harm  done,  and  if  you  ain’t,  why — ’ 

‘  Then  we’ll  have  his  watch  on  shares,  and 
pull  straws  for  the  chain,’  said  Isaac. 

‘  The  name  in  the  pass  is  Anderson,  is  it 
yours,  sir  ?’ 

‘It  is.  Let  me  go  and  I  will  give  you  my 
watch,  horse,  saddle  and  bridle.’ 

‘  Your  anxiety  and  your  offer  leads  me  to 


suspect  you.  Here  is  General  Arnold’s  sig¬ 
nature — that  is  all  right  enough,  and  we 
would  let  you  pass  with  it,  if  you  had  not 
just  now  called  yourself  a  British  officer.’ 

‘  Considerable  suspicious !’  said  he  of  the 
hair. 

•  He’s  a  regular  circumstance — and  no  mis¬ 
take,’  said  Isaac,  fumbling  about  his  waist¬ 
band  for  a  fob  that  the  sagacious  tailor  had 
prophetically  constructed  therein.  ‘  Let’s 
search  him. 

‘  Ay,  that’ll  show  what’s  trumps  !’  said  the 
knight  with  the  legs. 

‘  There  is  no  alternative,’  said  Paulding ; 
‘  you  must  excuse  us,  but  it  must  be  done,  sir.’ 

Leading  him  into  the  wood  they  proceed¬ 
ed  to  examine  his  hat,  coat,  and  waistcoat, 
without  making  any  discovery.  At  length 
they  compelled  him  to  resign  every  article  of 
his  apparel  to  their  scrutiny.  He  of  the 
long  locks  pulled  off  his  boots,  while  Ike 
opened  his  watch  and  examined  the  case. 
Their  search  was  vain,  an$  he  was  directed 
to  resume  his  apparel,  when  Paulding  thought 
\\e  heard  a  rattling  like  paper  as  Andre  drew 
on  his  boot.  His  fine  thread  stockings  alone 
had  not  been  taken  off,  the  captors  satisfying 
themselves  with  passing  the  hand  along  the 
outside  of  the  calf  and  ancle. 

‘Mr.  Anderson, you  will  oblige  me  by  re¬ 
moving  your  stocking.’  said  the  vigilant  yeo¬ 
man. 

‘I  had  thought  this  foolish  search  was 
ended,’  said  the  young  man,  his  heart  sinking. 

‘  Your  stockings  must  come  off,  sir.’ 

‘  Take  them  off,’  said  Andre,  placing  his 
palm  on  his  brow,  and  turning  away  his  face, 
wrung  with  an  expression  of  the  keenest  an¬ 
guish. 

In  the  feet  were  discovered  the  fatal  pack¬ 
ets  given  him  by  General  Arnold.  A  glance 
at  the  contents  of  one  or  twro  of  the  papers  at 
once  gave  them  an  idea  of  their  importance 
and  dangerous  nature.  After  they  had  con¬ 
sulted  together  for  a  few  minutes  as  to .  the 
disposal  of  their  prisoner,  he  who  was  called 
Ike,  approached  Andre,  and  said : 

‘Now  what’ll  you  give  us  to  let  you  go 
free  ?’ 

‘  Any  amount  you  may  ask,’  was  the  eager 
reply. 


Will  you  give  me  your  watch  and  chain, 
and  these  gentlemen  your  horse,  saddle,  bri¬ 
dle,  and  a  hundred  guineas  told  ?’ 

‘  Cheerfully.  And  the  money  shall  be  di¬ 
rected  to  this  very  spot  if  you  say  so,  so  that 
you  shall  be  sure  to  get  it.’ 

‘Is  that  all  you  will  give  ?’  coolly  asked 
Paulding. 

‘I  will  give  yon  whatever  you  demand, 
goods  or  money  to  the  amount  of  a  thousand 
pounds.’ 

‘Now,  Mistur,’said  he  of  the  nose,  in  a 
patriotic  tone,  and  with  a  look  of  inconceiva¬ 
ble  magnanimity,  ‘  if  you’d  give  us  ten  thou¬ 
sand  guineas,  and  your  watch  to  boot,  yes, 
your  gold  watch  and  chain  to  boot,  we  would 
not  let  you  stir  a  step,  hey,  boys  ?’ 

‘  Ifhe’s  an  enemy,  poor  as  we  be,  I’d  rather 
be  without  the  money  than  he  should  escape 
to  do  mischief,’  responded  Davy. 

‘Would  you  escape  if  you  could?’  asked 
Paulding. 

‘  Most  assuredly.’ 

‘  I  don’t  intend  you  shall,’  was  the  quiet 
reply  of  the  American.  In  a  few  minutes  af¬ 
terward  they  directed  their  prisoner  to  re¬ 
mount  his  horse,  and  with  Paulding  leading 
the  animal  by  the  bridle,  and  the  two  others 
marching,  one  a  few  paces  in  advance,  and 
other  in  the  rear,  they  re-entered  the  road, 
and  moved  at  a  smart  pace  northwardly  to¬ 
wards  North  Castle,  the  nearest  military  post 
of  the  Americans. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


On  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Hudson,  two 
miles  south  westerly  from  West  Point,  there 
stands,  at  the  present  day,  a  time-worn  dwell¬ 
ing.  It  is  a  long,  rambling  structure,  two 
stories  high,  and  erected  apparently  at  dif¬ 
ferent  periods — a  low  gallery,  in  some  pla¬ 
ces  sunken,  runs  around  it  with  vines  creep¬ 
ing  about  its  slender  columns,  and  grass 
growing  in  its  crevices ;  shrubs  have  got  root 
hold  on  its  moss-covered  roof,  and  hang  over 
the  eaves  in  graceful  festoons.  It  is  the 
centre  of  a  lawn,  from  the  bosom  of  which, 
numerous  fine  old  trees  ofa  century’s  growth, 


send  up  their  trunks  to  a  great  height,  and 
form  a  broad  canopy  of  foliage  above  the  ven¬ 
erable  roof.  Everything  about  it — its  worm- 
eaten  fences  ;  its  thick  soft  grass,  like  piled 
velvet,  which  age  only  can  give  ;  its  long 
range  of  noble  old  barns,  once  red,  but  now 
browned  and  blackened  with  the  storms  of 
eighty  winters  ;  its  gigantic  shrubbery ;  an 
avenue  of  box  trees  that  look  as  if  planted  un¬ 
der  a  woman’s  eye  ere  the  Revolution,  all 
give  it  and  air  of  old  family  dignity  and  an¬ 
tiquity  that  is  seldom  found  in  this  young 
western  world.  A  forest  shuts  out  the  pros¬ 
pect  of  the  river  from  the  south  gallery,  but 
a  range  of  mountains,  Dunderbeg  and  his  sa¬ 
tellites,  fill  the  eye  instead,  while  Antony’s 
Nose,  clothed  with  trees  to  its  top,  rises  ab¬ 
ruptly  from  the  lawn,  which  is  blended  with 
its  base  to  the  height  of  a  thousand  feet.  On 
the  west  and  north,  Fort  Putnam,  now  nearly 
hid  by  the  trees  that  have  been  suffered  to 
grow  up  immediately  around  it,  and  old  Crow 
Nest,  are  striking  objects  in  the  prospect. 
From  the  house  a  winding  carriage  road 
leads  through  the  romantic  wood  to  a  small 
cove  on  the  Hudson,  near  the  outlet  of  a 
brawling  brook  which  intersects  the  grounds, 
where  is  a  landing  place  for  small  boats. 
This  is  called  Beverly  Cove,  and  the  dwell¬ 
ing  above  described  Beverly  House.  Here 
Arnold  held  his  head  quarters  during  his 
command  at  West  Point. 

In  a  large,  square  room  of  the  mansion,  its 
low  ceiling  intersected  by  transverse  beams, 
carefully  white-washed,  the  capacious  fire¬ 
place  flanked  by  panel-work  and  little  closets, 
with  but  a  single  door  (besides  that  opening 
into  the  hall)  leading  into  a  small  window 
looking  to  the  north,  there  sat,  the  morning 
after  Andre’s  arrest,  a  party  at  breakfast.  It 
consisted  of  General  Arnold,  who  was  in  an 
unusually  gay  and  social  vein,  his  youthful 
and  lovely  wife,  whose  maiden  charms  had 
won  the  admiration  of  Andre,*  and  Colonels 
Hamilton  and  McPIenry,  aids-de-camps  of 
Generals  Washington  and  La  Fayette. 

In  the  midst  of  their  meal,  and  an  animated 


*  R  is  a  singular  fact  that  Andre  was  an  admirer 
of  Miss  Shippen,  afterwards  Mrs  Arnold,  who  was  a 
daughter  of  Chief  Justice  Shippen  of  Philadelphia, 
where  he  first  sawr  her  during  its  occupancy  by  the 
British  army. 


conversation  on  the  subject  of  the  contempla¬ 
ted  attack  on  New  York,  a  horseman  rode  up 
to  the  door,  and  a  moment  afterward  an  or¬ 
derly  entered  the  room  with  a  note,  which  he 
gave  to  General  Arnold.  Putting  down  an 
egg  he  was  about  to  break  into  a  little  China 
cup  before  him,  he  opened  the  letter  and  read 
with  a  palpitating  heart  and  a  sensation  of 
suffocation : 

‘  Sir : — I  send  forward  under  charge  of 
Lieutenant  Allen  and  a  guard,  which  will  ar¬ 
rive  at  Beverly  House  by  noon,  a  certain  John 
Anderson,  who  had  been  taken  while  going 
towards  New  York.  He  had  a  passport 
signed  in  your  name,  which,  doubtless,  is 
forged,  and  a  parcel  of  papers,  taken  from  his 
stockings,  which  are  of  a  very  dangerous  ten¬ 
dency.  I  send  him  to  you  as  commanding  of¬ 
ficer,  feeling  that  it  is  a  case  presenting  too 
many  difficulties,  and  involving  too  much  for 
me  to  decide  upon. 

*  Jamieson,  Colonel ,  fyc.  fyc.’ 

’Till  this  moment  Arnold  had  believed  that 
his  treason  was  successful.  From  the  hour 
of  his  arrival  at  Beverley  House,  after  taking 
leave  of  Andre,  he  had  been  singularly  ac¬ 
tive  and  alert  in  his  duties,  and  with  the  offi¬ 
cers  about  his  person  was  on  more  than  usual 
terms  of  confidence  and  intimacy.  That 
morning  Colonels  Hamilton  and  McHenry 
had  ridden  forward  to  his  house,  to  announce 
the  approach  of  Washington  and  Lafayette 
to  dine  with  him.  Such  was  the  confidence 
this  great  man  reposed  in  him — alas,  how  re¬ 
paid  !  The  friendship  (which  he  had)  of  such 
a  man  as  Washington ;  the  moral  atmosphere 
he  diffused  around  him  should  have  saved 
him  from  so  great  a  fail ! 

With  an  effort  of  self-command  almost  su¬ 
pernatural,  he  read  the  information  of  the  cap¬ 
ture  of,  A^idre  and  the  defeat  of  his  plans,  so 
long  forming.  He  folded  the  letter,  suppres¬ 
sing  hislemotions  the  while,  so  effectually  as 
to  prevent  the  least  suspicion  of  the  occur¬ 
rence  of  any  extraordinary  event,  and  taking 
up  the  egg  he  laid  down,  deliberately  broke 
it  into  his  cup,  and  f  or  a  few  seconds  longer 
continued  to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  addressed 
with  ease  a  few  common-place  words  to  Col. 
Hamilton.  At  length  he  said  : 

‘  Gentlemen,  I  beg  you  will  not  let  my  de¬ 
parture  interrupt  your  meal.  I  have  received 
a  note  requiring  my  immediate  presence  at 


West  Point.  George,  have  my  horse  saddled 
and  brought  to  the  door.*  Then  rising  from 
the  table,  he  hastened  up  stairs  to  his  private 
room,  situated  at  the  northeast  corner  of  the 
house,  and  despatched  a  servant  to  the  break¬ 
fast  room  to  say  to  Mrs.  Arnold  that  he  de¬ 
sired  to  speak  with  her. 

‘  Mary,’  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest 
agitation,  closing  the  door  and  taking  her  in 
his  ar  ns,  ‘  we  have  been  united  but  eighteen 
months,  but  we  must  now  part  forever.  I 
have  been,  unknown  to  you,  engaged  in  a 
treasonable  correspondence  with  Sir  Henry 
Clinton.  The  note  I  have  just  received  tells 
me  of  the  arrest  af  his  messenger  to  me,  with 
papers  on  his  person,  either  of  which  would 
become  my  death-warrant.  Nothing  remains 
for  me  but  instant  flight  to  the  enemy.  My 
barge  is  at  the  landing.  I  can  reach  the  Vul¬ 
ture  by  noon.  Escape  now  will  be  easy. — 
No  one  here  is  yet  aware  of  my  criminality. 
An  hour  hence  it  will  be  too  late.  Though 
Jamieson  is  too  dull  to  suspect  me,  Tallrnadge 
or  others  may  ere  this  have  seen  the  papers, 
and  be  on  their  way  to  arrest  me.  Instantly 
burn  all  my  papers.  Now,  farewell,  dearest. 
God  bless  you.  The  heaviest  blow  this  in¬ 
flicts  will  reach  me  through  you.  Now',  God 
bless  you — bless  you !’ 

Hastily  embracing  her  he  fled  from  the 
apartment,  and  though  a  shriek  prolonged  and 
wild,  and  a  heavy  fall  reached  his  ears  as  he 
descended  the  stairs,  he  lingered  not  but 
flung  himself  on  Col.  Hamilton’s  horse,  his 
own  not  being  yet  at  the  door.  Giving  the 
animal  the  rein,  he  took  a  by-path  around  the 
stables,  galloped  rapidly  along  a  hedge  and 
descended  a  wooded  hill  through  a  dry,  rocky 
ravine,  almost  impracticable  to  horse,  but 
down  which  he  recklessly  urged  the  noble 
animal,  which,  by  plunging,  leaping,  and  slid¬ 
ing  on  his  belly,  the  spurs  of  the  rider  cutting 
into  the  rocks  as  he  bore  upon  them  with  his 
heels,  reached  the  bottom,  and  leaped  the 
brook  clear  into  the  carriage-road  Riding 
forward  like  wind  through  the  wooded  bot¬ 
tom,  Arnold  gained  the  cove,  where,  beside  a 
small  pier,  his  barge,  with  six  men,  was  in 
waiting  to  convey  him,  as  usual,  at  that  hour, 
across  to  West  Point. 

He  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and 


sprung  into  the  boat.  ‘  Push  off,  Cuyler  P  he 
said  to  the  coxswain,  with  anxious  impa¬ 
tience.  ‘  Lively  men,  lively  !  Clear  from  the 
shore !  Set  your  oar  to  that  sunken  rock,  and 
help  her?  There,  she’s  off.  Thank  God! 
Now  let  fall  and  give  way,  Starboard,  Cuy¬ 
ler  !  Hand  a  starboard !’ 

The  boatswain  stared.  ‘  Are  we  not 
going  to  West  Point,  sir?’ 

‘  No,  below !  Urgent  affairs  require  my 
presence  on  board  the  Vulture.  Pull  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  take  the  full 
force  of  the  tide.  Lay  to  your  sweeps  well? 
now.  You  shall  have  a  guinea  a  piece  when 
you  run  your  boat  under  the  counter  ot  the 
Vulture.’ 

The  men  gave  utterance  to  a  kind  of  cheer, 
and  bent  to  their  oars  with  a  good  will.  Cuy¬ 
ler  sat  in  the  stern  sheets,  steering  her  with 
a  steadiness  and  skill  that  added  almost  the 
force  of  a  seventh  oar  to  her  speed.  For 
awhile  the  barge  stood  steadily  down  the 
river,  passing  on  either  hand  scenery  of 
savage  grandeur,  every  commanding  emi¬ 
nence  of  which  was  frowning  with  a  redoubt. 

In  about  an  hour  they  emerged  trom  the 
Highlands  into  a  broader  part  of  the  river, 
and  approached  the  fortress  at  Verplank’s 
Point,  commanded  by  Colonel  Livingston. 
Arnold,  who  hitherto  had  sat  in  the  stern  of 
the  boat,  with  his  arms  folded,  only  rousing 
himself  from  a  gloomly  revery  by  cheering 
the  boatmen  to  renewed  exertions,  on  near¬ 
ing  the  post,  placed  in  the  stern  a  white 
handkerchief  fixed  to  his  sword,  which  had 
the  effect  intended,  for  Colonel  Livingston 
regarding  it  as  a  flag-boat  permitted  it  to  pass 
without  ordering  it  to  be  stopped  and  exam¬ 
ined.  This  was  a  trying  moment  to  the 
traitor,  and  he  scarcely  breathed  ’till  the 
barge  was  beyond  gunshot.  The  Vulture 
was  now  in  sight  a  league  below,  and  in 
another  hour  he  was  on  board  of  her. 

We  will  here  dispose  of  the  traitor  in  a  few 
words.  Although  his  plan  had  failed,  he  was 
made  a  Major-General  in  the  British  army, 
and  was  otherwise  rewarded  for  his  inten¬ 
tions  and  previous  services  as  Clinton’s  cor¬ 
respondent.  But  honorable  men  of  the  Bri¬ 
tish  army  refused  to  associate  with,  him,  and 
officers  to  serve  under  him.  After  living-  J 


twenty  years  in  merited  contempt  and  infa¬ 
my,  he  died  miserably,  at  his  residence  in 
Grosvenor  square,  London ;  not  only  unpiti¬ 
ed  and  unhonored,  but  leaving  behind  him  a 
name  which  has  become  a  by-word  for  trea¬ 
son  among  both  British  and  American  peo¬ 
ple. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Two  hours  after  the  flight  of  Arnold,  Gen¬ 
eral  Washington,  accompanied  by  Knox  and 
La  Fayette,  on  their  return  from  a  visit  to 
Count  Rochambeau  at  Hartford,  arrived  at 
Beverly  House,  as  previously  arranged,  to  -J 
repose  themselves  and  dine.  Here  learning 
from  his  aids  that  General  Arnold  had  been 
suddenly  called  over  to  West  Point  on  ur¬ 
gent  business  he  remained  only  long  enough 
to  take  a  late  and  hasty  breakfast,  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  the  garrison,  to  ascertain  if  any 
thing  important  had  transpired.  Accompa¬ 
nied  by  all  his  suite  except  Colonel  Hamil¬ 
ton,  who  was  detained  in  writing  letters,  he 
rode  to  the  cove  by  the  usual  carriage  road. 

This  is  a  firm  gravelled  avenue,  running 
northwardly  with  an  easy  descent,  through  a 
line  of  old  trees  for  a  hundred  yards,  to  the 
bottom  of  a  dell,  through  which  the  brook  be¬ 
fore  mentioned  runs  brawling  over  stones. 

Here,  at  a  gate,  the  road  makes  a  sharp  an¬ 
gle  to  the  left,  and  follows  the  course  of  the  ^ 
rivulet.  A  roof  of  densest  foliage  shields  it 
from  the  noon-day  sun,  and  seats  placed  at 
intervals  along  its  borders,  invite  the  rambler 
to  repose  ;  while  the  ceaseless  gurgle  of  the 
flowing  water,  the  singing  of  countless  birds, 
the  silence  of  the  forest  trees,  save  when 
their  tops  are  moved  whisperingly-  by  the 
winds,  tempt  him  to  linger  in  its  delightful 
seclusion.  Such  was  the  pleasant  woodland 
path  through  which  the  party  rode,  such,  save 
that  time  has  made  it  lovelier,  is  it  now.  Just 
beford  they  arrived  at  the  cove  they  discover¬ 
ed  the  horse  deserted  by  Arnold  grazing  by 
the  path,  his  bridle  beneath  his  feet,  and  his 
saddle  and  coat  bearing  traces  of  the  red 
soil  in  which  he  had  taken  that  equine  luxury, 
a  roll. 


t 


i r 


A  passing  remark  was  made  by  Knox  on 
General  Arnold’s  carelessness;  the  animal 
was  led  back  to  the  house  by  a  servant ;  and 
in  a  few  seconds  afterward,  the  gentlemen 
dismounted  on  the  little  pier.  Here,  a  small 
pennant,  hoisted  by  an  attendant  sent  in  ad¬ 
vance,  was  fluttering  from  a  staff  placed  on  a 
projecting  point  of  rock,  in  answer  to  which 
a  barge  of  eight  oars  was  putting  out  from 
the  fort  of  Buttermilk  Falls,  then  a  military 
boat  station.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  party 
embarked, and  the  boat  moved  rapidly  through 
the  water.  The  harmony  of  motion  and  ac¬ 
tion,  in  a  well  manned  barge,  produces,  like 
all  harmony,  silence  and  music.  The  simul¬ 
taneous  sway  of  the  bodies  of  the  oarsman — 
the  regular  rattle  in  the  row  locks — the  liquid 
dip  of  the  falling  sweeps — the  answering 
leaps  of  the  boat — all  are  harmonious,  sooth¬ 
ing,  and  conducive  to  meditation.  After  the 
first  hundred  yards,  conversation  ceased,  and 
each  gentleman  seemed  to  be  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts.  The  scenery  through 
which  they  moved,  added,  also,  its  influence. 
On  the  right,  stretched  the  eastern  shore, 
rising  a  rocky  precipice  from  the  water,  and 
crowned  with  woods.  On  the  left  the  But¬ 
termilk  Falls  came  tumbling  and  foaming  in 
snowy  sheets  from  the  top  of  a  cliff,  and  fur¬ 
ther  on,  the  shores  were  walled  with  lofty 
rural  precipices.  As  they  proceeded,  the 
Highlands  of  Crow  Nest  and  Bull  Hill  frown¬ 
ed  down  upon  them,  and  from  a  promontory, 
the  fortress  of  West  Point  bristled  with  its 
iron  battery.  As  they  approached  the  land¬ 
ing,  now  disused,  south  of  Kosciusco’s  gar¬ 
den,  Washington  observed  with  enthusiasm — 

‘  Well,  gentlemen,  it  is  fortunate  for  us  that 
General  Arnold  has  gone  over  to  the  garrison 
in  advance  of  us,  for  we  shall  now  have  a  sa¬ 
lute,  and  the  roaring  of  the  cannon  will  have 
a  fine  effect  among  these  mountains.’ 

The  barge  continued  to  approach  the 
shore  without  any  notice  from  the  fortress, 
when,  surprized  at  the  silence,  and  absence 
of  all  preparations  to  receive  them,  he  ex¬ 
claimed — 

‘  What !  do  they  not  intend  to  salute  us  ?’ 

An  officer  now  made  his  appearance,  de¬ 
scending  the  ravine,  and  reached  the  shore 
just  as  the  boat  touched  it. 


‘How  is  this,  sir?’  said  Washington,  with 
some  severity. 

‘  Pardon  me,  General,’  said  the  officer  in 
confusion,  ‘  I  did  not  anticipate  the  honor  of 
such  a  visit,  or  I  should  have  been  prepared  to 
receive  you  in  a  proper  manner.’ 

‘  What !  is  not  General  Arnold  here  ?’  de¬ 
manded  the  chief  with  surprise. 

‘  No,  your  excellency.  He  has  not  been 
here  for  these  two  days,  nor  have  I  heard 
from  him  within  that  time.’ 

‘This  is  extraordinary,  indeed,’  said 
Washington  ;  ‘  we  were  told  he  had  crossed 
the  river,  and  that  we  should  find  him 
here.’ 

He,  nevertheless,  remained  and  inspected 
the  garrison  and  works,  and  then  re-entered 
the  barge  with  his  suite,  and  was  pulled  back 
to  Beverly  House. 

As  he  approached  the  mansion,  Colonel 
Hamilton  met  him  with  a  troubled  counte¬ 
nance,  and  whispered  in  his  ear — 

‘  Alight,  sir !  I  have  a  matter  of  the  most 
vital  importance  to  acquaint  you  with.’ 

Washington  accompanied  him  into  the  sit¬ 
ting  room,  and  when  the  door  was  closed, 
Hamilton  placed  in  his  hands  several  papers, 
saying,  ‘  As  the  messenger  who  arrived  short¬ 
ly  after  you  left,  said  they  were  of  the  utmost 
importance,  I  opened  them.’ 

Washington  read  the  letters,  which  con¬ 
tained  from  an  authentic  source,  the  account 
of  the  capture  of  Andre,  and  a  copy  of  the 
papers  in  Arnold’s  hand  writing,  with  the 
passport  in  the  same  hand,  found  on  his  per¬ 
son.  The  guilt  of  Arnold  was  made  clear  as 
light,  and  the  cause  of  his  absence  from  West 
Point  accounted  for.  It  was  plain  that  he 
had  escaped  to  the  enemy. 

‘  Pie  has  descended  the  river  ;  ride,  Ham- 
ton,  for  your  life,’  said  Washington  ;  ‘  it  may 
be  possible  to  intercept  him  at  Verplank’s 
Point.’ 

Colonel  Hamilton  left  the  room  and  spur¬ 
red  away  on  what  appeared  to  be  a  fruitless 
errand.  Washington  now  sent  for  General 
La  Fayette  and  Knox,  to  whom  he  communi¬ 
cated  Arnold’s  treason,  and  placed  in  their 
hands  the  papers  which  confirmed  it.  His 
manner  was  composed  and  dignified. 

‘  Whom  can  we  trust  now  !’  he  said  calm- 


ly,  after  they  had  finished  the  perusal  of  the 
letters, 

‘  Mon  dieu!  is  it  possible  !’  exclaimed  La 
Fayette,  crumbling  the  paper  in  his  clenched 
hand,  as  he  swiftly  paced  the  apartment. 

‘  I  always  knew  him  to  be  a  disaffected 

man,  but  by - I  did  not  expect  the  devil 

to  turn  out  so  black  from  hoof  to  horn !’  said 
Knox,  violently  striking  his  fist  upon  the  ta¬ 
ble. 

1  It  is  useless  to  show  feeling  about  it  now, 
gentlemen,’  soid  Washington,  without  be¬ 
traying  emotion  or  anxiety  of  any  kind,  ‘  it 
remains  for  us  to  repair  what  injury  he  has 
done  us,  and  prevent  him  from  doing  more.’ 

The  American  General  now  directed  all 
his  energies  to  counteract  all  the  plans  laid 
by  the  traitor.  Orders  were  forwarded  to  all 
the  posts,  the  positions  of  the  garrison’s 
changed,  and  the  whole  order  of  things,  as 
laid  down  by  Arnold,  reversed.  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  however,  through  the  capture  of  An¬ 
dre,  was  kept  in  ignorance  and  uncertainty 
until  the  arrival  of  the  Vulture  in  New  York, 
with  Arnold  on  board,  the  morning  after  his 
flight.  The  project,  therefore,  was  abandon¬ 
ed,  and  the  troops  disembarked. 

CHAPTER  XI. 


It  was  not  until  noon  on  the  following 
day  that  Andre  arrived  at  Beverly  House, 
under  escort  of  Major  Tallmadge.  This  of¬ 
ficer,  on  inspecting  the  captured  papers  which 
were  shown  him  after  Colonel  Jamieson  had 
sent  the  prisoner  forward,  saw  what  this  offi¬ 
cer  was  strangely  blind  to  Arnold’s  guilt. — 
Expressing  in  warm  tones  of  censure  his 
opinion  of  the  course  pursued'  by  Jamieson, 
of  sending  the  accomplice  to  the  accomplice, 
he  requested  and  received  the  command  of 
the  escort,  and  after  some  delay  reached 
head  quarters  with  his  prisoner.  Washing¬ 
ton  refused  to  see  Andre,  lest  he  should  for¬ 
get  what  was  due  to  justice,  in  sympathy  for 
its  victim,  and  ordered  him  to  be  placed  un¬ 
der  guard  in  the  small  room,  opening  from 
the  dining-room,  a  sentinel  to  be  posted  on 
the  outside  of  tbe  door,  and  other  precautions 


taken  for  his  security,  until  he  could  be  con¬ 
veyed  to  West  Point,  and  thence  to  Tappan 
for  trial. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Andre 
stood  by  his  little  window,  watching  the  set¬ 
ting  sun  as  it  hung  low  in  the  skies  above 
the  summit  of  Crow  Nest,  and  gilding  with 
its  slanting  beams  the  walls  of  the  fortress  at 
West  point.  His  thoughts  were  turned  on 
the  hopelessness  of  his  situation.  He  knew 
that  he  must  die.  To  be  cut  off  in  the  prime 
of  youth,  his  earthly  hopes  crushed,  the  ties 
of  love,  paternal  and  filial,  for  ever  broken — 
all  that  bound  him  to  his  fellow  beings  sev¬ 
ered  and  destroyed-!  He  turned  away  from 
the  window,  and  paced  to  and  fro  his  narrow 
prison,  under  the  pressure  of  intense  and 
mental  agony.  Terrible  was  the  conflict  be¬ 
tween  his  manhood  and  his  human  nature! 
At  length  reason  asserted  her  power,  and  phi¬ 
losophy  and  religion  came  to  his  aid,  and  he 
grew  calmer.  He  resolved  to  bear  his  fate 
like  a  man,  and  like  a  British  soldier.  After 
a  few  seconds,  he  called  to  the  sentinel,  and 
requested  writing  materials  to  be  brought  to 
him.  They  were  cheerfully  granted  by  Ma¬ 
jor  Tallmadge,  who  had  taken  a  deep  and 
feeling  interest  in  the  fate  of  the  youth. — 
Seating  himself  at  a  table,  Andre  penned  the 
following  letter  to  General  Washington: 

September  2  4th.,  1780. 

Sir : — What  I  have  said  concerning  my¬ 
self  to  my  captors,  was  in  the  justifiable  at¬ 
tempt  to  be  extricated ;  I  am  too  little  accus¬ 
tomed  to  duplicity  to  have  succeeded. 

I  beg  your  excellency  will  be  persuaded, 
that  no  alteration  in  the  temper  of  my  mind, 
or  apprehension  for  my  safety,  induces  me  to 
take  the  step  of  addressing  you  ;  but  that  it 
is  to  rescue  myself  from  an  imputation  of  hav¬ 
ing  assumed  a  mean  character  for  treacher¬ 
ous  purposes  or  self  interest  ;  a  conduct  in 
compatible  with  the  principles  that  actuate 
me,  as  well  as  with. my  condition  in  life. 

It  is  to  vindicate  my  fame  that  I  speak,  and 
not  to  solicit  security. 

The  person  in  your  possession,  is  Major 
John  Andre,  Adjutant  General  in  the  British 
army. 

The  influence  of  one  commander  in  the 
army  of  his  adversary  is  an  advantage  taken 
in  war.  A  correspondence  for  this  purpose, 

I  held ;  as  confidential,  (in  the  present  in¬ 
stance,)  with  his  excellency,  Sir  Henry  Clin¬ 
ton. 

To  favor  it,  I  agreed  to  meet  upon  o  round 


not  within  the  posts  of  either  army,  a  per¬ 
son  who  was  to  give  me  intelligence.  I 
came  up  in  the  Vulture  man-of-war,  for  this 
effect,  and  was  fetched  by  a  boat,  from  the 
ship  to  the  beach.  Being  there,  I  was  told 
that  the  approsch  of  day  would  prevent  my 
return,  and  that  I  must  be  concealed  until 
the  next  night.  I  was  in  my  regimentals, 
and  had  fairly  risked  my  person. 

Against  my  stipulation,  my  intention,  and 
without  my  knowledge  beforehand,  I  was 
conducted  within  one  of  ynur  posts.  Your 
excellency  may  conceive  my  sensation  on 
this  occasion,  and  will  imagine  how  much 
more  must  I  have  been  affected  by  a  refusal 
to  re-conduct  me  back  the  next  night,  as  I 
had  been  brought.  Thus  become  a  prisoner, 

I  had  to  concert  my  escape.  I  quitted  my 
uniform,  and  was  passed  another  way,  in  the 
night,  without  the  American  posts,  to  neu¬ 
tral  ground,  and  informed  I  was  beyond  all 
armed  parties,  and  left  to  press  for  New-York. 

I  was  taken  at  Tarrytown  by  some  volun¬ 
teers. 

Thus,  as  I  have  had  the  honor  to  relate, 
was  I  betrayed,  (being  an  Adjutant  General 
of  the  British  Army,)  into  the  vile  condition 
of  an  enemy  in  disguise  within  your  posts. 
Having  avowed  myself  a  British  officer,  I 
have  nothing  to  reveal  but  what  relates  to 
myself,  which  is  true,  on  the  honor  of  an  offi¬ 
cer  and  a  gentleman. 

The  request  I  have  to  make  to  your  ex¬ 
cellency,  and  I  am  conscious  I  address  my¬ 
self  well,  is,  that  in  any  rigor  policy  may  dic¬ 
tate,  a  decency  of  conduct  towards  me  may 
mark,  that  though  unfortunate,  I  am  branded 
with  nothing  dishonorable,  as  no  motive  could 
be  mine  but  the  service  of  my  king,  and  as 
I  was  involuntarily  an  imposter. 

Another  request  is,  that  I  may  be  permit¬ 
ted  to  write  an  open  letter  to  Sir  Henry  Clin¬ 
ton,  and  another  to  a  friend,  for  clothes  and 
linen. 

I  take  the  liberty  to  mention  the  condition 
of  some  gentlemen  at  Charleston,  who  being 
on  parole,  or  under  protection,  were  engaged 
m  a  conspiracy  against  us.  Though  their 
situation  is  not  similar,  they  are  objects  who 
may  be  set  in  exchange  forme,  or  are’  per¬ 
sons  whom  the  treatment  I  receive  might  af¬ 
fect. 

It  is  no  less,  sir,  in  a  confidence  of  the 
generosity  of  your  mind,  than  on  accoount  of 
your  superior  station,  that  I  have  chosen  to 
importune  you  with  this  letter. 

I  have  the  dio nor  to  be,  with  great  respect, 
sir,  your  Excellency’s  most  obedient  and 
most  humble  servant, 

John  Andre,  Adj’t.  General.' 

When  he  had  finished  penning  this  elo¬ 
quent  appeal,  he  gave  it  to  Major  Tallmadge, 
who  read  it  with  undisguised  astonishment. 


He  had  suspected  from  his  carriage,  and  the 
habit  of  turning  on  his  heel  in  his  walk,  that 
he  was  a  military  man,  but  had  no  suspicion 
that  he  held  so  high  a  rank  in  the  British 
army,  nor  that  the  plot  in  which  he  had  been 
connected  with  Arnold,  was  so  extensive  and 
dangerous.  He  carried  the  letter  to  General 
Washington,  who  was  deeply  affected  on 
reading  it,  but  made  no  reply  to  it.  After 
the  prisoner  had  sent  the  letter,  his  mind  ap¬ 
peared  relieved,  and  his  features  wore  a  calm 
and  contented  expression.  He  turned  again 


to  the  window,  and  the  calm  landscape  light¬ 
ed  by  the  evening  sky,  was  not  more  pla¬ 
cid  and  serene  than  his  countenance. 

‘  Andre !’ 

He  started,  and  looked  around.  But  there 
was  no  one  present. 

1  Andre !’  was  a  second  time  repeated,  as 
if  close  to  his  ear,  in  the  gentle  tones  of  a 
woman’s  voice. 

He  looked  around  and  up  to  the  ceiling, 
when  his  eye  caught  a  slip  of  paper  flutter¬ 
ing  through  a  crevice  in  the  floor  above. 
Andre,’  softly  repeated  the  voice  a  third 
time,  and  the  paper  fell  fluttering  at  his  feet. 
He  lifted  it  from  the  ground  and  read  it  with 
a  sparkling  eye. 

Dear  Major  Andre.— Though  miserable 
myself,  I  cannot  be  altogether  so  absorbed  m 
my  own  wretchedness,  as  to  forget  the  grief 
of  others.  Listen  to  me.  I  know  your  high 
notions  of  honor,  and  the  spirit  of  chivalrous 
self-sacrifice  that  fills  your  bosom,  but  oh ! 
for  my  sake — for  your  own — for  that  of  your 
mother  and  sisters — for  the  sake  of  your 
country — do  what  I  am  about  to  ask -of  you! 
Accept  life  while  it  is  in  your  power !  Do  not 
remain  to  die  like  a  criminal!  Life  is  now 
yours — to-morrow  it  may  be  due  to  justice ! 
Alas !  my  heart  tells  me  what  will  be  your 
reply — but  I  will  not  therefore  cease  my  ex¬ 
ertions  to  save  you.  Assisted  by  a  faithful 
slave,  I  this  morning  loosened  two  of  the 
planks  in  your  room.  They  afford  commu¬ 
nication  with  the  cellar.  Descend  into  it, 
and  Peter  will  meet  you  with  a  disguise,  and 
conduct  you,  by  the  western  outlet,  which 
opens  among  high  shrubbery,  into  the  gar¬ 
den,  where  he  will  conceal  you  ’till  night,  and 
then  provide  a  boat  for  your  escape.  Do 
not,  Andre,  neglect  this  opportunity  !  Fly 
now!  General  Washington  and  his  staff  are 
busy  in  the  library,  and  nothing  can  prevent 
,  the  success  of  the  plan  -but  your  obstinacy. 
I  Fly,  Andre !  Escape !  For  the  sake  of  all 


you  hold  dear  on  earth,  lose  not  a  moment, 
but  fly  !  Mary.’ 

The  young  man  read  this  appeal  with  a 
sparkling  eye  and  glowing  countenance, when 
he  concluded  it  he  glanced  upward  and  kiss¬ 
ed  his  hand  to  the  invisible  author  of  it,  then 
folded  the  paper,  placed  it  next  his  heart,  and 
paced  the  room  rapidly  with  a  thoughtful  brow 
and  excited  manner. 

‘Nay,  nay,  I  will  not— I  cannot— I  may 
not !  I  must  abide  my  destiny.’ 

He  stopped,  surveyed  the  floor  through 
every  part,  and  then  walked  towards  the  side 
next  to  the  hall  and  trod  lightly  on  the  two 
planks  nearest  the  wall.  They  were  loose. 
He  stooped  to  lift  them  and  they  yielded  to 
his  hand  and  he  gazed  down  the  dark  cellar 
beneath. 

‘  Come,  mass^!  coas’  clear — dis  jus’  de 
time  !’  said  a  low  husky  voice  from  beneath. 

The  prisoner  paused  an  instant,  then  with 
a  sudden  impulse  closed  the  aperture  and 
walked  resolutely  away.  An  exclamation  of 
anguish  and  disappointment  from  the  apart¬ 
ment  above  reached  his  ear,  but  with  folded 
arms  and  a  composed  manner,  he  gazed  stead¬ 
fastly  from  the  window,  his  face  expressive 
of  the  triumph  of  an  honorable  mind  over  an 
unworthy  temptation. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


The  morning  of  the  second  of  October 
broke  with  a  clear  sky,  and  the  promise  of  a 
bright  autumnal  day.  The  sun  rose  without 
a  cloud,  and  gladdened  hill,  forest,  and  valley 
with  his  cheering  light. 

Happiness  was  written  on  the  face  of  na¬ 
ture,  as  if  with  the  finger  of  Heaven ;  but 
among  the  habitations  of  men,  sorrow  and 
woe  had,  as  ever,  an  abiding  place.  There 
was  one  abode  into  the  windows  of  which  this 
morning’s  sun  shone,  above  all  others,  melan¬ 
choly  in  its  character,  and  most  melancholy 
for  the  scenes  of  human  sorrow  and  wretch¬ 
edness  of  which  it  was  the  daily  witness.  It 
was  a  prison.  In  one  of  its  gloomiest  apart¬ 
ments,  sat  a  young  man  whose  days  were 
numbered — whose  star  was  about  to  become 


extinguished  ere  it  reached  its  zenith.  It 
was  Major  Andre.  His  judges  had  doomed 
him  to  die  as  a  spy,  taken  within  the  Ameri¬ 
can  lines. 

The  sympathizing  American  Chief  would 
gladly  have  commuted  this  harsh  sentence, 
but  military  justice  demanded  the  victim!  In 
one  hour  he  was  led  forth  to  execution  !  His 
countenance  was  firm.  A  delightful  calm 
dwelt  on  his  youthful  and  noble  features,  and 
an  air  of  repose  and  resignation  marked  his 
bearing.  About  him  stood  a  group  of  officers, 
foes  of  his  country,  but  whom  his  virtues  had 
converted  into  personal  friends.  Tears  were 
in  the  eyes  of  these  stern  warriors,  and  their 
voices  trembled  with  emotion  as  they  talked 
in  low  tones  with  each  other.  He  alone  was 
calm  and  resigned  ! 

An  officer  entered  and  announced  in  a 
subdued  tone,  that  the  hour  of  execution  had 
arrived.  The  prisoner  rose  with  dignity  and 
said: 

1  Gentlemen,  I  am  ready  to  wait  on  you.’ 
Taking  the  arm  of  Major  Tallmadge,  who 
bad  been  constantly  with  him  since  his  cap¬ 
ture,  he  left  his  cell  with  a  firm  step.  In  the 
street  he  took  the  arms  of  two  subaltern  offi¬ 
cers,  and  walked  between  them  to  the  place 
of  execution.  A  natural  composure  prevaded 
his  manner,  and  his  whole  deportment  was 
remarkably  dignified  and  self-possessed. 

‘  My  emotions  are  singular,’  he  said,  turn¬ 
ing  to  Major  Tallmadge,  who  walked  near 
him,  ‘  when  I  reflect  that  in  a  very  few  min¬ 
utes  I  shall  be  an  inhabitant  of  the  world  of 
spirits — so  soon  have  revealed  to  me  thegjxat 
secret !  But  I  do  not  shrink  from  it.  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die — if  I  were,  wretched,  indeed 
should  I  be  at  this  moment.’ 

They  now  came  in  sight  of  the  gallows 
surrounded  by  a  large  military  force  and  a 
great  concourse  of  citizens  awaiting  the  event 
— a  deep  gloom  filling  all  hearts — commise¬ 
ration  visible  on  every  face. 

When  the  young  man  saw  the  degrading 
instrument  of  execution  he  stopped,  and  turn¬ 
ing  to  Major  Tallmadge  said,  with  an  expres¬ 
sion  of  mingled  pain  and  indignation,  ‘  Why 
is  this  ?’ 

‘  Are  you  ill,  sir,’  asked  the  officer,  igno- 
J  rant  of  the  cause  of  his  emotion. 


‘  ’Tis  nothing,  sir,’  said  the  young  soldier, 
recovering  his  composure ;  ‘  I  hoped  to  have 
met  death  at  least  at  the  hands  of  the  soldiers, 
and  not  at  those  of  the  common  hangman. 
Move  forward,  I  am  reconciled  to  death,  but 
I  detest  the  mode.’ 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards  he  stood  be¬ 
neath  the  gallows.  As  he  looked  up  at  the 
fatal  engine  of  death,  his  chest  heaved  and 
there  was  a  choaking  in  his  throat  as  if  he 
were  striving  to  suppress  feelings  struggling 
to  escape.  At  length  the  noose  was  suspen¬ 
ded  from  the  beam  and  the  wagon  placed  be¬ 
neath.  Without  assistance  he  stepped  into 
it,  and  then  for  a  moment  he  appeared  to 
shrink.  The  ascendancy  of  nature  was  but 
momentary.  Instantly  recovering  himself,  he 
looked  around  upon  the  sorrowful  faces  at  the 
foot  of  the  gallows,  and  said  with  a  smile  : 

‘  It  will  be  but  a  momentary  pang.’ 

Then  declining  the  assistance  of  the  pro¬ 
vost-marshal,  he  bandaged  his  own  eyes  with 
a  degree  of  firmness  and  resignation  that 
the  eyes  of  all  who  gazed  were  filled  with 
tears,  and  deep  groans  of  emotion  escaped 
from  the  breast  of  many  a  stalwart  soldier, 
that  the  stern  spirit  of  military  laws  should 
demand  so  young  and  so  noble  a  victim. 

The  provost-marshal  now  loosely  pinioned 
his  arms  and  placed  the  noose  over  the  young 
man’s  head,  who,  himself  with  perfect  firm¬ 
ness,  adjusted  it  to  his  neck. 

‘  Major  Andre,  you  now  have  an  opportuni- 
ty  to  speak  if  you  desire  it,’  said  the  provost- 
marshal. 

Lifting  the  handkerchief  from  his  eyes,  he 
looked  steadily  around,  and  said  in  a  firm, 
clear  voice  that  reached  every  ear  of  the  si¬ 
lent  multitude. 

‘  I  pray  you  to  bear  me  witness  that  I  meet 
my  fate  like  a  brave  man.’  There  was  no 
vain  boasting  in  his  voice  or  manner,  but 
his  words  proceeded  from  that  honorable 
pride  which  becomes  a  soldier,  and  which 
sheds  a  halo  even  around  the  brow  of  death. 
When  he  had  said  this,  he  resumed  his  form¬ 
er  position  and  calmly  awaited  his  fate. 

The  signal  was  given — the  wagon  rolled 
from  beneath  him,  and  the  victim  of  military 
justice  had  expiated  his  offence  with  life. 

*  Such,’  says  Mr.  Sparks  in  his  ‘  Biogra¬ 


phy  of  Arnold,’  which  able  work  we  have 
made  free  use  of  in  this  outline, 4  such,  was 
the  death  of  a  man  whose  rare  accomplish¬ 
ments  had  procured  for  him  the  friendship 
and  confidence  of  all  to  whom  he  was  known, 
and  opened  the  happiest  presages  of  a  future 
career  of  renown  and  gmry.  In  ten  short 
days  his  blooming  hopes  had  been  blighted, 
and  his  glowing  visions  dispersed.  But  it 
was  his  singular  fortune  to  die,  not  more  be¬ 
loved  by  his  friends  than  lamented  by  his 
enemies,  whose  cause  he  had  sought  to  ruin, 
and  by  whose  hands  his  life  was  justly  taken. 
Time  has  consecrated  the  feeling.  There 
are  few  Americans,  and  few  will  there  ever 
be,  who  can  look  back  upon  the  fate  of  Andre 
without  deep  regret.  His  name  is  embalm¬ 
ed  in  every  generous  heart ;  and  they  who 
will  condemn  his  great  error,  and  applaud 
the  sentence  of  his  judges,  will  cherish  a 
melancholy  remembrance  of  the  unfortunate 
victim,  and  grieve  that  a  life  of  so  much  prom¬ 
ise,  adorned  with  so  many  elevated  and  esti¬ 
mable  qualities,  was  destined  to  an  untimely 
and  ignominious  end.’  The  tears  and  eulo¬ 
gies  that  have  followed  the  memory  of  this 
noble  gentleman,  brave  soldier,  and  honora¬ 
ble  man,  eminently  show  how  virtue  may  en¬ 
noble  even  the  gallows,  and  demonstrate  that 
it  is  far  better  to  die  well,  though  on  a  gal¬ 
lows,  than,  like  Benedict  Arnold,  to  purchase 
life  with  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  mankind. 

1  Still  lived  he  on — his  victim  domed  to  die — 

Yet  in  their  different  fates  behold  the  homily 

THE  BOLdYnSURGENT. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  YEAR  1768. 


PART  I. 

SCENE  IN  A  TAP-ROOM. 

In  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  of 
England,  Sir  William  Berkley  was  Governor 
of  Virginia,  then  a  pet-province  of  royalty, 
and  receiving  more  of  the  sunshine  of  kingly 
favor  than  any  other  of  the  American  plan¬ 
tations.  It  was  settled  principally  by  cava¬ 
liers  of  this  prince’s  ill-fated  father’s  court, 
and  a  party,  who,  to  escape  the  retributive 
vengeance  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  sought  here 
an  asylum  from  the  political  tempest  that  laid 


waste  their  fair  Island.  Here  took  refuge 
many  of  the  first  Charles’  personal  friends  and 
most  devoted  adherents  ;  and  with  but  few 
exceptions,  all  of  these  transferred  their  loy¬ 
alty  from  the  father  to  the  sbn.  After  the 
restoration,  they  would  have  willingly  return¬ 
ed  from  their  exile,  and  were  making  prepa¬ 
rations  to  do  so,  when  the  second  Charles, 
desirous  of  giving  consideration  to  the  pro¬ 
vince  through  the  presence  there  of  men  of 
wealth  and  family,  courteously  signified  that 
it  was  his  royal  wish  that  they  should  remain 
there,  and  by  their  presence  and  influence, 
countenance  the  infant  colony,  which,  on  their 
departure,  would  languish  and  die.  The  ex¬ 
pression  of  i  he  royal  desire  was  to  them  a 
command ;  and  Virginia  became  permanently 
the  home  of  some  of  the  best  descended  cav¬ 
aliers  of  Great  Britain,  whose  descendants, 
in  this  day,  have  parted  not  with  the  high 
tone  of  gallantry  and  chivalrous  bearing  that 
characterized  the  gentlemen  of  the  court  of 
the  unfortunate  Charles.  The  presence  of  so 
large  a  number  of  good  families,  who,  instead 
of  coming  to  acquire  wealth,  brought  it  with 
them  in  all  its  refinements,  combined  with  the 
peculiar  favor  the  colony  received  from  the 
parent  country,  contributed  to  place  Virginia 
far  before  its  sister  colonies  in  those  luxuries 
which  the  latter  only  finally  arrived  to  the  en¬ 
joyment  of,  after  years  of  patient  and  labor¬ 
ious  toil.  This  peculiarity  was  apparent,  and 
distinctly  marked  as  early  as  the  period  of 
our  story ;  and  a  century  and  a  half  has 
scarcely  diminished  the  claim  of  the  ‘  old  do¬ 
minion’  to  this  distinctive  feature. 

The  colonists  were  composed  principally 
of  planters,  gentlemen  of  estate,  King’s  offi¬ 
cers,  military  men,  with  the  persons  compo¬ 
sing  the  council  and  court  of  Sir  William 
Berkley.  Mechanics  there  were  few  or  none, 
as  all  mnufactured  articles  were  imported 
from  the  mother  country,  from  a  hat  down  to 
a  shoe,  and  oftentimes,  also,  the  entire  frames 
of  dwelling  honses  and  public  edifices.  Poor 
white  laborers  were  also  rare,  as  all  work 
was  done  by  slaves.  Loafers  were  not  known 
then.  It  was  emphatically  a  colony  of  gen¬ 
tlemen.  Their  estates  extended  on  both 
sides  of  James  River,  many  a  league,  and 
along  both  shores  of  the  Chesapeake.  James¬ 


town  was  the  seat  of  the  colonial  government 
the  residence  of  Sir  William  Berkley ;  and 
the  centre  of  all  provincial' events.  Here  the 
governor  held  his  court ;  here  met  the  assem¬ 
bly,  and  here  were  the  head  quarters  of  the 
troops. 

This  town,  at  the  period  of  our  story,  in 
1675,  extended  along  a  rambling  street  that 
ran  parallel  with  James,  then  called  Powhat- 
ten  River,  for  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile, 
and  faced  the  south.  The  place  on  which  it 
was  built,  was  a  peninsula,  formed  by  a  creek, 
that,  approaching  within  a  few'  rods  of  James 
River,  above  the  town,  turned  with  a  broad 
sweep,  off  suddenly  to  the  left,  quite  encom¬ 
passing  the  town,  and  emptied  itself  into  the 
the  river  two  miles  below  it.  The  neck  that 
joined  the  peninsula  thus  formed,  to  the  main 
land,  was  but  ten  paces  in  breadth,  and  across 
it  run  the  only  road  that  led  from  the  town  to 
the  the  interior.  Besides  the  state-house, 
which  was  an  imposing  brick  structure,  with 
a  portico  and  gallery,  the  governor’s  resi¬ 
dence,  just  out  of  the  village,  and  a  church 
with  a  lower  tower,  there  wa3  no  other  pub¬ 
lic  building  in  the  town,  unless  the  hostel  of 
Katrine  Larence,  be  thus  designated.  Ka¬ 
trine  had  been  the  prettiest  maiden,  the  love¬ 
liest  bride,  and  handsomest  widow  in  the 
whole  plantation.  At  the  time  this  story 
opened,  she  had  remained  in  widowhood 
twelve  years,  the  whilst  mistress  and  hostess 
of  the  most  notable  public  house  in  Virginia ; 

£  the  resorte,’  says  the  historian  ‘  of  all  the 
gentry  and  best  of  quality  of  the  colony 
whom  business  and  cencours  to  the  governor 
brought  to  town  from  all  parts.’ 

One  stormy  night,  several  of  her  guests 
were  congregated  in  the  tap-room,  the  chief 
window  of  which  looked  toward  the  council- 
hall  or  state  house.  It  was  the  night  before 
the  meeting  of  the  provincial  assembly,  and 
the  inn  was  filled  with  the  members  that  rep¬ 
resented  different  parts  of  the  colony,  and,  as 
the  custom  then  was,  most  of  them  were  ga¬ 
thered  in  tho  tap-room  after  supper,  previous 
to  retiring  for  the  night,  The  company  was 
divided  or  separated  into  four  or  five  groups. 
Around  the  fire  (for  the  night,  though  a  late 
one,  was  damp  and  chilly,  and  a  fire  comfort¬ 
able)  was  drawn  a  knot  of  the  members  dis- 


cussing  the  anticipated  affairs  of  to-morrow, 
on  the  opening  of  the  assembly.  They  ,  were 
mostly  dressed  in  the  broad  skirted  coats, 
flapped  waistcoats,  breeches  and  knee-buc¬ 
kles,  with  the  queued  and  powdered  hair  of 
the  period.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor,  seated 
around  a  table,  was  a  group  of  town’s-people, 
from  their  dress  and  conversation,  evidently 
merchants  and  ship-masters,  talking  of  gains, 
of  winds,  and  foreign  lands.  In  a  corner  of 
the  apartment  were  several  seamen,  riotous¬ 
ly  drinking  and  singing  over  oft-replenished 
cups  of  gin  or  claret,  while  in  an  opposite 
corner,  as  if  seeking  to  shun  observation, 
were  two  swarthy  and  painted  Indians,  wij^i 
bundles  of  furs  at  their  feet,  bargaining  in 
low  guttural  tones  with  a  little  fat,  shrewd 
‘  leader  ’  of  the  town,  who  displayed,  in  his 
hands,  gay  beads,  brass  rings,  and  other 
tempting  trinkets,  as  the  price  for  their  bea¬ 
ver  skins.  On  one  side  of  the  long,  low 
apartment,  was  a  semi-circular  pulpit  well 
guarded  with  an  oaken  lattice,  and  commu¬ 
nicating,  by  a  little  window  in  the  rear,  with 
an  inner  room.  This  was  the  ‘  bar  ’  or  ‘  tap  ’ 
of  the  inn,  and  its  presiding  deity  none  other 
than  Katrine  herself,  who  was  leaning  over 
its  counter,  and  talking  with  a  tall,  handsome 
man,  not  above  thirty  years  of  age,  who  while 
listening  to  her  with  courteous  attention,  was 
marking  all  that  passed  among  the  several 
groups  in  the  tap-room.  This  man  was  fine¬ 
ly  formed,  and  wore  a  costume  half  that  of  a 
hunter,  and  half  military,  which  became  him, 
while  it  set  off*  to  advantage  the  firm  propor¬ 
tions  of  his  well-built  frame.  His  whole  air, 
his  subdued  and  calm  manner,  as  well  as  the 
richness  of  some  parts  of  his  dress,  showed 
him  to  be  a  man  of  birth  and  bearing.  His 
eye  was  grey  and  large,  and  clear  like  an 
eagle’s,  while  his  mouth  wore  that  firm  expres¬ 
sion  that  indicated  courage,  daring,  and  a 
high  fierce  spirit.  His  complexion  was  florid, 
his  forehead  partly  shaded  by  a  low  Virginia 
palm  hat,  was  broad  and  smooth  ;  while  the 
strength  of  his  noble,  but  stern  brows  was  re¬ 
lieved  by  clustering  locks  of  light  brown  hair 
that  escaped  from  his  hat,  and  rested  upon  his 
temples.  A  light,  elegant  mustache  graced 
his  upper  lip,  and  a  peaked,  well  trimmed 
beard'  descended  to  his  breast.  He  wore  a 


straight  sword  at  his  side,  and  in  his  belt  was 
stuck  a  pistol,  and  a  long  two-edged  hunting 
knife.  His  smile  was  pleasant,  and  the  few 
low  words  he  from  time  to  time  returned  for 
the  courteous  flow  of  gossip  with  which  Ka¬ 
trine  entertained  him,  seemed,  from  her  fre¬ 
quent  laughs,  not  only  to  give  her  great  plea¬ 
sure,  but  to  the  sufficiently  well-timed — not¬ 
withstanding  he  was  all  the  while  more  intent 
in  listening  to  the  conversation  of  those  about 
the  fire-place,  than  to  her. 

‘  Come,  Colonel,’  she  said  at  length,  seeing 
that  he  thought  less  of  her  words  than  he 
seemed  to  ;  ‘  leave  the  tap-room,  and  go  back 
into  the  little  parlor,  where  thy  supper  is  laid- 
There  is  wine  and  warm  welcome  for  thee 
there.’ 

‘  Such  welcome  were  a  thing  not  lightly 
to  be  turned  from,  Katrine,’  he  said,  ‘  but 
pray  thee  let  me  listen  awhile  to  these  cavj 
liers.  Their  discourse  hath  especial  intere] 
for  me.’ 

‘  It  is  nothing  but  dry  assembly  talk ;  a 
hear  it  from  morning  ’till  night,  until  I  wish 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  politics  in  the 
world.’ 

‘Were  there  no  politics,  dame,  thou 
would’st  scarce  have  so  crowded  a  hotel  as 
thou  hast  this  night,’  answered  the  cavalier. 

‘  That  is  true  ;  but  we  need  not  listen  to 
them.’ 

‘  Go,  Katrine,  I  wiil  presently  follow  thee, 
and  do  justice  to  thy  board.’ 

Thus  speaking,  he  quitted  the  easy,  loung-i 
ing  posture  he  had  hitherto  assumed,  as  hm 
leaned  his  ear  towards  the  hostess,  and  movedH 
as  if  with  careless  purpose,  towards  the  m 
place,  yet  not  so  near  as  to  attract  observa¬ 
tion  by  the  act. 

‘  These  painted  pagans  that  so  infest  our 
borders  with  fire  and  blood  and  death  in  their 
train,  must  be  exterminated,’  said  one  of  the 
older  gentlemen  of  the  group,  continuing  the 
conversation,  and  striking  his  gold-headed 
staff*  upon  the  hearth,  to  enforce,  by  its  em¬ 
phasis,  his  energetic  words. 

‘They  have,  a  second,  time,  come  within 
thirty  miles  of  Jameston,  and  the  light  of 
their  war-fires  has  illuminated  the  horizon  of 
our  very  capital,’  said  another.  ‘  Why  Sir 
William  does  not  send  on  troops  to  protect 


the  frontier,  and  punish  these  savages,  is 
known  better  to  himself  than  it  is  to  me.’ 

‘  Sir  William  Berkley,  our  excellent  go¬ 
vernor,  hath  too  much  wisdom  to  shoot  bul¬ 
lets  through  beaver-skins/  squeaked  a  low, 
chuckling  voice,  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
room. 

Every  one  looked  in  the  direction  from  which 
it  proceeded,  and  discovered  in  the  speaker 
the  squat  trader ,  who  was  bargaining  with  the 
friendly  Indians. 

‘  What  mean  you,  sirrah  ?’  demanded  one 
of  the  members,  with  indignation. 

‘  We  all  know  that  Sir  William  loves  the 
ring  of  gold  and  silver  as  well  as  a  Jew,’  said 
the  little  man  with  a  boldness  singularly  con¬ 
trasting  with  his  small  voice  and  diminutive 


appearance,  ‘  and  while  he  can  buy  beaver- 
skins  for  a  blue  bead  each,  and  sell  them  to 
his  factors  at  a  dollar,  he  will  not,  by  going 
to  war  with  our  red  friends,  put  an  end  to 
profitable  gains.’ 

‘  By  Saint  George !  there  spoke  a  true 
word  if  the  devil  had  given  it  speech !’  cried 
the  second  speaker  with  animation. 

*  And  herein,’  said  the  first,  ‘  lieth,  I  do 
verily  believe,  the  secret  of  the  whole  mat¬ 
ter.  The  trader  hath  got  to  the  thumb  end.’ 

‘  Shall  we  suffer  this  thing  to  be,  gentle¬ 
men,’  said  a  bold,  slashing  cavalier,  with  a 
red  face,  and  altogether  a  dissipated  air,  who 
made  one  of  the  group :  ‘  shall  our  lives  be 
put  in  the  balance  against  the  governor’s  cu¬ 
pidity.  It  is  but  three  hours  since  the  rumor 
kame  flying  in,  that  seventeen  men  have  been 
rin  within  fifty  miles  of  us,  since  Saturday 
jht.  Sir  William  Berkley  must  learn  that 
freemen’s  lives  are  not  to  be  measured  with 
beaver-tails.’ 

‘  Tut,  tut,  Larence,  man !’  said  one  of  the 
party,  laughing ;  ‘you  speak  treason  that  will 
bring  you  to  a  hempen  neck-cloth.’ 

‘  If  it  be  treason ,  then  have  I  also  a  hand  in 
it,’  said  the  young  cavalier,  who  had  been 
listening  to  their  conversation  with  deep  at¬ 
tention.  He  strode  towards  the  fire-place  as 
he  spoke,  and  the  exclamation,  ‘  Colonel  Ba¬ 
con  !’  from  every  one  present,  showed  that  he 
was  no  stranger  to  them,  though  their  man¬ 
ner  evinced  surprize,  both  at  his  presence 
and  language.  ‘  Yes,  gentleman,’  he  con¬ 


tinued,  after  exchanging  brief  and  courteous 
salutations  with  them,  ‘  if  Major  Larence  had 
spoken  treason,  then  is  every  true  and  honest 
man  in  this  dominion  a  traitor !  Sir  William 
Berkley  looks  more  to  his  own  interest  than 
to  the  colony’s,  and  hath  some  deeper  pur¬ 
pose  in  his  forbearance  towards  the  savages 
who  have  been  so  long  suffered  to  lay  waste 
our  borders,  than  appears,— unless  this  trader 
hath  hit  upon  the  truth.’ 

‘  This  is  bold  language,  Colonel  Bacon,’ 
said  one  of  the  gentlemen,  ‘  to  deliver  in  the 
hearing  of  a  member  of  Sir  William  Berk¬ 
ley’s  council.’ 

‘Sir  William  Berkley  himself,  shall  hear  a 
plainer  speech  than  even  this,  Mr.Oglethorpe. 
I  have  come  to  Jamestowne  to-night  to  ask 
of  his  Excellency  a  commission,  that  1  may 
levy  men  and  go  against  these  Indian  rob¬ 
bers.’ 

‘This  is  a  bold  procedure,  sir,’  said  the  old 
counsellor,  with  surprise. 

The  times  require  bold  steps,’  was  the  re¬ 
ply  of  the  young  man. 

‘  If  the  Governor  refuse  to  commission 
you?’  asked  one  of  the  gentlemen,  all  of 
whom  had  now  risen  from  their  seats  and 
were  gathered  round  the  young  Virginian 
cavalier,  actuated^by  various  feelings,  as  hos¬ 
tility  or  friendship  to  Sir  Wiliam  Berkley  in¬ 
fluenced  their  views  of  this  proposed  step. 

‘  I  will  in  that  case,  on  my  own  responsi¬ 
bility,  raise  a  party  of  men  who  have  got  too 
much  of  the  Briton  in  them  to  be  slaves  to 
any  man’s  will,  and  go  forth  against  them  my¬ 
self.’ 

‘  What  greater  cause  have  you  than  other 
men  to  take  up  arms,  that  you  must  do  this 
even  if  you  have  to  do  it  as  a  rebel  ?’  asked 
the  counsellor. 

‘  Love  for  my  ill-governed  country,  lest  it 
be  ruined  by  the  misconduct  of  those  in  pow¬ 
er.  Besides,’  he  added  in  a  low,  deep  tone 
of  vengeance,  ‘  did  not  all  of  you  know  my 
cousin  and  more  than  brother,  Emery  War¬ 
wick  ?’ 

‘  The  noblest  spirit  in  the  province,’  was 
the  unanimous  reply. 

‘  Well,  sirs,  he  died  yesterday,’  continued 
Bacon,  calmly. 

‘  Dead  !  how  came  it  ?’ 


‘  By  the  murderous  tomahawk  of  the  sav¬ 
age  chief  Cineca  !’  was  the  low,  deep,  and  al¬ 
most  terrific  reply. 

‘  This  must  be  looked  to/  said  the  counsel¬ 
lors  after  a  moment’s  silent  surprise. 

‘  It  shall  he  looked  to ,  or  Sir  William  Berk¬ 
ley’s  head  shall  answer  it,’  responded  Bacon 
sternly ;  and  strode  from  the  apartment,  leav- 
^  ing  them  full  of  wonder  and  apprehension  of 

they  knew  not  what  impending  evil. 


PART  II. 

SCENE  IN  THE  LIBRARY. 


Sir  William  Berkley  was  seated  in  his  li¬ 
brary,  the  closely  drawn  window  curtains  of 
which  could  not  shut  out  the  vivid  lightning 
of  the  storm  that  raged  without,  while  occa¬ 
sional  peals  of  thunder  shook  the  dwelling  to 
its  foundation.  ‘  Green  Spring,’  the  seat  of 
Sir  William,  was  a  handsome  villa,  construct¬ 
ed  after  the  old  fashioned  Virginia  style, 
with  a  broad  hall  running  through  the  centre, 
spacious  wings,  and  a  light  colonade  or  gal¬ 
lery,  quite  encompassing  it.  A  wide  lawn, 
dotted  with  oaks,  separated  it  from  James 
river,  near  which,  about  a  third  of  a  mile 
from  the  town,  it  stood.  Here  Sir  William 
Berkley  lived,  in  the  style  of  a  wealthy  coun¬ 
try  gentleman,  as  well  as  Governor,  though 
^  his  hospitality  was  limited  by  a  certain  care 
for  money,  characteristic  of  him,  that  better 
became  a  King’s  factor,  than  a  King’s  Gov¬ 
ernor,  or  his  own  high  birth.  He  was  a  lov¬ 
er  of  mammon,  and  made  his  office  rathe 
the  instrument  for  the  acquisition  of  wealth 
than  for  the  weal  and  prosperity  of  the  colo¬ 
ny.  Aside  from  this  failing,  he  was  a  well- 
bred  gentleman,  courteous,  polite,  and  affa¬ 
ble — for  these  are  qualities  that  cost  nothing, 
and  most  avaricious  men  are  lavish  enough 
of  them  so  long  as  their  purse  strings  are  not 
invaded.  One  great  source  of  his  wea'th 
was  trading  with  the  Indians,  which  his  sta- 
*  tion  enabled  him  to  do  to  advantage,  and  to 

make  a  monopoly  of  the  traffic.  For  two 
years  past,  the  Indians  had  been  exceeding¬ 
ly  troublesome,  and  were  constantly  perpe¬ 


trating  atrocious  murders  along  the  frontier 
on  the  plea,  sufficiently  well-grounded,  that 
the  government  was  indebted  to  them  for  for¬ 
mer  services  in  war,  in  which  several  of  their 
warriors  had  been  sacrificed,  and  for  which 
their  widows  had  received  no  remuneration. 
Numerous  petitions  had  been  made  to  Sir 
William  Berkley  from  the  planters  along  the 
borders,  either  to  satisfy  the  claim  or  send 
troops  to  protect  them.  Their  applications 
were  disregarded,  and  the  savages  became 
bolder,  and  at  length  so  dangerous  and  for¬ 
midable  that  all  the  planters  and  the  inhabi¬ 
tants  of  the  region,  open  to  their  inroads,  fled 
from  their  homes  to  the  towns,  leaving  their 
cattle  and  harvests  a  prey  to  their  enemies. 
This  was  the  crisis  of  affairs  at  the  present 
time.  But  Governor  Berkley  Avas  too  wise, 
(to  quote  the  language  of  the  trader,)  ‘  to 
shoot  a  bullet  through  a  beaver  skin,’ — and 
so  long  as  the  Indians  would  send  in  their 
furs,  he  was  indifferent  how  many  of  his  col¬ 
ony  were  carried  off  and  massacred. 

There  were  two  persons  in  the  library  Avith 
Sir  William.  One  of  them  was  a  rough, 
Aveather-beaten  sea-captain  ;  who  stood  twir¬ 
ling  his  tarpaulin  near  the  table  where  the 
Governor  sat  in  ruff,  velvet,  and  powdered 
wig.  The  other,  who  stood  opposite  the  sail¬ 
or,  was  an  Indian  chief  of  the  highest  rank, 
judging  from  the  Avar-eagle’s  feather  that 
graced  the  coronet  of  scarlet  plumes  he 
wore. 

1  How  many  skins,  Cineca,  have  you  bro’t 
down  in  your  canoes,  said  you  ?’  asked  the 
Governor,  who  was  in  the  attitude  of  writ¬ 
ing,  Avith  a  gold  pencil  in  his  fingers. 

‘  Five  canoes — thousand  skins  in  each  ca¬ 
noe,’  answered  the  Indian  in  good  English. 

‘And  what  am  I  to  give  you  for  them  ?’ 

‘  One  keg  powder,,  one  keg  whiskey, 
twelve  guns  and  one  hundred  pounds  lead, 
with  pipes  and  tobacco  for  five  Avarriors.’ 

‘This  will  never  do,  Chief!  ’tis  too  much, 
too  much,  Cineca !’ 

‘  Brother  get  the  skins  very  cheap,’  an¬ 
swered  the  Indian. 

‘  Too  much — too  much,’  repeated  Sir  Wil¬ 
liam,  ‘  I  Avill  give  you  but  ten  guns,  and  fifty 
pounds  of  lead,  with  pipes  and  tobacco  for 
thyself.’ 


*  Cineca  must  have  what  he  said,’  replied 
the  Indian  firmly. 

‘You  are  growing  too  sharp,  Cineca.  Two 
years  ago  I  bought  twice  as  many  of  you  at  a 
fifth  of  the  price. 

‘  Cineca  was  a  child  then — he  is  now  a 
man — brother  will  pay. 

‘Well,  be  it  so — but  see  that  you  use  not 
these  guns  against  my  people,’  said  Sir  Wil¬ 
iam  with  a  smile.  ‘  I  hear  sad  accounts 
from  your  warriors.  Set  them  to  catching 
beavers,  and  they  will  have  little  time  to  mo¬ 
lest  our  borderers.  I  shall  have  to  send 
troops  against  you,  and  then  there  will  be  an 
end  of  your  thriving  beaver  trade.’ 

‘Warriors  love  better  to  hunt  men  than 
beaver.  If  we  fight  we  no  hunt ;  a  scalp  is 
worth  a  hundred  beaver  skins,’  answered  the 
savage  Chief  with  a  kindling  eye. 

‘  Go  to,  Chief !  Let  me  hear  no  more  of 
these  murders  on  the  frontier !  To-morrow, 
deliver  your  skins  to  my  factor  and  you  shall 
receive  your  pay.  Now,  Captain,’  he  said, 
turning  to  the  sailor  after  the  Indian  left  the 
apartment,  ‘  I  must  have  these  skins  packed 
and  aboard  by  Thursday  night,  which  will 
complete  the  tale  of  your  rich  freight,  and 
you  can  sail  on  Friday  morning.’ 

‘  On  Friday ,  Sir  W  illiam  ?’ 

‘  Surely — why  do  you  show  such  conster¬ 
nation  ?’ 

‘  It  is  an  unlucky  day,  Sir  William.  I 
would  not  put  to  sea.  on  Friday,  if  I  expected 
to  have  luck  on  the  passage.’ 

‘  You  are  a  fool.  Then  drive  work,  and 
sail  Thursday  night :  they  shall  not  lay  by  a 
day  for  no  man’s  superstition.  The  markets 
by  last  accounts  were  high,  and  I  would  have 
dispatch.  If  the  voyage  end  prosperously, 
’t  will  make  me  eight  thousand  pounds  richer 
than  at  its  beginning.  Well,  Edward,  what 
now  ?’  he  demanded  of  a  servant  who  entered. 

‘  A  gentleman  desires  to  see  your  Excel¬ 
lency.’ 

‘His  name?  He  must  have  business  press¬ 
ing,  to  venture  abroad  in  this  storm.’ 

‘He  gave  none — but  that  he  was  a  Virgin¬ 
ian.’ 

‘  This  smacks.  These  haughty  Virginians, 

I  verily  believe,  do  look  upon  themselves  as 
better  men  than  born  Britons.  Bid  him  come 


in.  You  may  go,  Captain,  and  see  that  the 
rising  sun  of  Friday  shines  on  your  canvass 
ten  leagues  a-sea.’ 

The  captain  took  his  leave  as  the  servant 
ushered  in  the  new  visitant. 

‘  Ha,  Colonel  Bacon !  you  are  welcome  ! — 
Come  upon  the  old  subject,  I  doubt  not,’  said 
the  Governor  petulantty. 

‘  If  your  Excellency  by  this  phraseology 
means  the  subject  of  our  border  grievances, 
permit  me  to  say  it  is  a  new  subject.  Would 
to  God  we  could  say  it  was  an  old  one!  But 
each  day’s  deeds  seem  to  keep  it  fresh,  and  I 
have  hither  come  from  my  plantation  to  see  if 
by  your  aid  this  grievance  may  not  be  abated 
and  so  made  old  to  those  who  would  hereafter 
speak  of  it.’ 

‘  There  is  no  cause  for  this  array  of  peti¬ 
tions  with  which  I  am  hourly  besieged.  What 
bloody  deeds  the  Indians  have  committed, 
they  have  been  provoked  to  by  men  who 
would  push  their  possession  into  their  hunt¬ 
ing  grounds.’ 

‘I  am  not  here,  your  Excellenoy,  to  dis¬ 
cuss  a  question  which  you  have  heard  han¬ 
dled  in  all  its  bearings.  I  am  here  to  pray 
you  to  give  us  present  aid,  that  our  homes 
may  not  be  made  desolate.’ 

‘I  have  but  a  few  household  troops,' and 
our  military  have  little  relish  for  fighting 
with  savages.  I  question  if  I  could  raise  five 
hundred  men  in  all  the  counties  to  carry  on 
war  with  these  barbarians.’ 

‘  I  do  not  ask  you  to  raise  a  single  man, 
Sir  William.  If  you  will  commission  me  to 
raise  what  men  I  may,  and  leave  me  to  carry 
on  this  barbaric  war,  you  shall  hear  no  more 
of  petitions,’  said  Bacon,  with  animation. 

‘  Commission  you,  Nathaniel  Bacon?’  re¬ 
peated  the  Governor,  starting  with  surprise. 

‘I  said  so,  your  Excellency,’  answered 
Bacon,  quietly. 

‘Never, by  heaven!  You  would  soon  be 
general-in-chief,  and  fore  God!  I  should  have 
to  look  out  for  my  own  safety  and  authority. 
No,  no !  I  had  enough  of  your  fiery  and 
ambitious  spirit  when  you  were  last  year  a 
member  of  the  Assembly.  You  were  then 
like  to  have  o’ertopped  all  other  gentlemen  ! 
By  the  round  head  of  Noll  Cromwell!  but 


r 


r 


this  is  a  singular  proposition  for  you  to  make 
to  me,  sir.’ 

‘  Will  you  commission  me,  Sir  William?’ 
asked  Bacon,  when  he  had  ended,  unmoved 
by  his  violent  language. 

‘  Commission  you !  If  you  want  a  commis¬ 
sion,  go  to  the  devil  for  it.’ 

The  young  Virginian  struck  his  sword 
hilt,  as  if  he  would  have  unsheathed  it  at  this 
insulting  retort,  but  recollecting  himself,  said 
calmly : 

*  Nay  I  will  not  draw  my  sword  save  for 
my  country,  you  have  both  refused  to  give 
men  and  to  commission  me.  Now  mark,  sir ! 
Commission  or  no  commission,  I  do  from  this 
hour  give  myself  to  this  service.’ 

Thus  speaking,  he  left  the  library,  and  the 
house  of  the  Governor,  and  returned  to  the 
inn,  where  ordering  his  horse,  he  galloped 
off,  dark  and  stormy  as  it  was,  and  departed 
from  the  town. 


•PART  III. 

m 

SCENE  IN  THE  ASSEMBLY. 


Not  a  week  elapsed  after  the  interview 
between  these  two  gentleman,  ere  the  rumor 
reached  Jamestowne  that  Colonel  Bacon  had 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  one  hundred  mount¬ 
ed  men,  mostly  of  estate,  and  marched  against 
the  Indians,  over  whom  he  had  gained  a  most 
signal  victory.  The  assembly  was  in  ses¬ 
sion  at  the  time,  with  the  Governor  presiding, 
and  the  report  was  received  by  this  body  with 
incredulity.  But  a  few  hours  afterwards  it 
was  confirmed  by  a  special  messenger  to  the 
Governor,  who  was  none  other  than  Cineca 
himself,  who  with  his  life  had  barely  escaped 
from  the  slaughter  of  his  'warriors.  The 
matter  was  instantly  laid  before  the  Assem¬ 
bly,  which  was  composed  nearly  equally  of 
those  who  sided  with  the  governor  in  con¬ 
demning  it.  The  latter  faction,  instead  of 
appeasing  Sir  William’s  anger,  devised 
means  to  increase  it,  by  framing  specious 
pretences,  which  they  grounded  on  the  au¬ 
dacity  of  Bacon’s  conduct,  and  the  hold  he 
had  already  got  upon  the  popular  affection. 


Indeed,  many  of  these  gentlemen  on  their 
own  part  began  to  have  Bacon’s  suddenly  dis¬ 
played  merits  in  mistrust,  and  to  look  upon 
him  as  a  rival  that  would  endanger  their  own 
personal  consideration. 

Though  he  was  a  very  young  man,  they 
saw  plainly  that  he  was  master  of  those  tal¬ 
ents  which  win  popular  favor  and  confidence, 
to  which  he  united  great  wisdom  and  discre¬ 
tion.  ‘By  •which  embellishments,’  says  a 
contemporary,  ‘  they  thought  if  hee  should 
bee  suffered  to  continue  at  the  head  of  a  grow¬ 
ing  army,  they,  instead  of  being  seniors,  might 
become  juniors,  while  their  younger  brother, 
(Col.  Bacon,)  through  the  nimbleness  of  his 
witt,  might  steal  away  that  blessing  which 
they  accounted  their  own  birthright;  and  also 
Sir  William  thought  this  rash  proceeding  of 
Bacon,  if  it  did  not  undoe  himselfe  by  his 
failing  in  the  enterprize,  might  chance  to  un¬ 
doe  him  in  the  affections  of  the  people ;  which 
to  prevent,  he  thought  it  conducible  to  his 
intress  and  establishment  to  proclaim  him  a 
rebelV 

Accordingly,  before  the  Assembly  adjourn¬ 
ed  for  that  day,  Nathaniel  Bacon  was  pro¬ 
claimed  a  rebel,  and  forces  were  raised  to  re¬ 
duce  him  to  his  duty.  Scarcely  had  the  pro¬ 
clamation  been  published,  ere  intelligence 
reached  Jamestowne  that  Bacon’s  force  had 
increased  to  seven  hundred  men,  that  his  ar¬ 
my  had  constituted  him  General,  that  a 
second  victory  over  the  Indians  had  brought 
them  to  terms  of  peace  for  the  time,  and  en¬ 
ded  the  war,  The  news  was  received  with 
demonstrations  of  joy  by  the  people  general¬ 
ly,  but  filled  the  Governor  and  the  enemies 
of  Bacon  with  jealous  alarm.  Sir  William 
Berkley  believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  that 
his  next  step  •would  be  to  march  against  him¬ 
self,  and  he  immediately  called  upon  his 
‘Train  Band,’  and  all  true  men  of  the  pro¬ 
vince,  to  arm  in  defence  of  their  country 
against  so  dangerous  an  insurgent.  Such 
intentions,  however,  as  the  Governor  saw  fit 
to  attribute  to  the  young  leader,  had  never 
entered  Colonel  Bacon’s  mind.  His  only 
object>  in  taking  up  arms  was  to  free  his 
country  from  a  ruthless  foe,  which,  growing 
confident  in  the  supiness  and  inaction  of  the 
government,  threatened  to  inude  the  whole 


land  with  blood.  ‘  He  was  a  man  of  quality 
and  merit,  brave  and  eloquent,  and  became 
much  endeared  to  the  people,  not  so  much 
for  what  he  had  yet  done,  as  for  what  they 
expected  he  would  do  to  deserve  their  de¬ 
votion,’  says  an  old  writer  of  that  day  ;  ‘  while 
with  no  common  zeale  they  sent  up  their  re¬ 
iterated  prayers,  first  to  himselfe,  and  next  to 
Heaven,  that  he  may  become  their  guardian 
angele  to  protect  them  against  the  Indians, 
now  that  the  Governor  cared  not  whether 
they  were  slain  or  noe.’  Thus  in  a  few  days 
had  this  young  man  ingratiated  himself  into 
the  affections  of  the  people,  and  become  in¬ 
deed,  should  he  see  fit  to  use  his  power,  a 
formidable  rival  to  the  jealous  Governor. 

Bacon  having  dispersed  the  Indians,  re¬ 
turned  to  his  own  country  and  dismissed  his 
forces,  with  orders  to  be  ready  to  obey  his 
call  at  any  moment.  He  here  learned  with 
scornful  indignation  that  the  Governor  had 
proclaimed  him  both  a  rebel  and  traitor.  The 
county  had  recently  chosen  a  burgess  for  the 
Assembly,  who,  from  some  accidental  cir¬ 
cumstance,  was  detained  from  joining  his 
colleagues  up  to  the  time  of  General  Bacon’s 
return;  and  it  was  now  apparent  that  he 
would  be  unable  to  attend  the  Assembly  dur¬ 
ing  the  present  session.  It  was  necessary 
that  a  substitute  should  be  appointed,  and  the 
young  insurgent  chief  was  unanimously  cho¬ 
sen  to  fill  the  station.  He  gladly  accepted 
the  nomination,  for  he  wished  once  more, 
now  that  he  had  done  good  service  against 
the  common  enemy,  to  see  Sir  William  Berk¬ 
ley,  and  be  commissioned  by  him,  as  well  as 
to  have  the  proclamation  that  had  outlawed 
him,  revoked.  He  therefore,  immediately  on 
being  elected  burgess,  embarked  in  a  sloop 
with  thirty  of  his  friends  and  adherents,  and 
sailed  down  James  river,  (on  the  banks  of 
which,  near  the  head  waters,  his  plantation 
was  situated,)  towards  the  provincial  capital. 
It  was  night  when  he  arrived  and  anchored 
off  the  town.  The  Assembly  were  yet  sit¬ 
ting,  by  the  light  of  their  lamps  which  shone 
through  the  windows  of  the  state  house,  pen¬ 
cilling  long  lines  of  light  upon  the  limpid 
stream.  Trusting  to  the  privileges  of  his 
official  character  as  an  elected  burgess, 

1  without  reflecting  that  as  an  outlaw  his 


election  was  illegal,  the  young  chief  deter¬ 
mined  to  go  on  shore  at  once  and  take  his 
seat  in  the  Assembly.  He  jumped  into  a 
boat,  and  attended  only  by  Major  Larence 
and  another  friend,  pulled  to  the  land.  The 
night  wras  clear  and  starry,  and  the  town  they 
were  approaching,  seemed  to  sleep,  all  was 
so  still.  Lights  burning  here  and  there  in  a 
chamber  window,  and  the  occasional  howl  of 
a  dog  from  the  dark  mass  of  houses,  alone 
gave  signs  that  they  were  near  the  congre¬ 
gated  abodes  of  men.  As  they  touched  the 
shore  where  a  few  water  oaks  bent  over  the 
stream,  they  heard  the  distant  sound  of  the 
drum  and  fife,  and  then  followed  the  varied 
roll  of  the  tatoo ,  rising  and  falling  on  the 
wind,  telling  them  that  the  town  was  garri¬ 
soned  and  alert. 

‘  Berkley  has  taken  care  of  himself,’  said 
Major  Larence,  after  listening  an  instant  to 
these  martial  sounds.  ‘You  had  best  follow 
his  example.’ 

‘  I  fear  nothing  for  myself,  Larence.  Re¬ 
turn  to  the  sloop,  and  let  me  go  alone  to  the 
council  chamber.  Nay,  it  is  best  that  I 
should  do  so.  If  I  bring  friends  along  with 
me,  it  will  look  like  suspicion.’ 

After  a  few  words  of  expostulation  on  the 
part  of  Major  Larence,  he  consented  to  re¬ 
main  where  he  was  by  the  boat,  that  he  might 
be  ready  to  succor  his  friend  if  his  frank  con¬ 
fidence  should  bring  him  into  peril. 

When  Col.  Bacon  reached  the  state  house, 
he  was  surprized  to  see  a  guard  of  soldiers 
drawn  up  around  it.  Without  hesitation  he 
advanced  to  the  entrance  of  the  hall,  and  de¬ 
manded  admittance  into  the  Assembly. 

‘It  were  as  much  as  my  commission  is 
worth,  sir,  to  admit  you,’  said  the  captain 


alone  ?’ 

‘  Alone !’ 

‘  Then  pass — but  I  would  rather,  for  your 
own  safety,  sir,  you  should  retire,’  he  said  in 
a  low  tone. 

‘  What  have  I  tq  fear,  captain  ?’ 

‘  The  Governor’s  jealousy,  and  the  rival 
enmity  of  your  colleagues  ?’ 

‘  I  will  meet  it.  Let  me  pass  in  !’ 

The  guard  stood  aside,  and  the  bold  young 
leader  opened  the  door,  and  strode  into  the 


hall  of  the  Assembly.  Without  stopping,  he  1 
walked  up  to  the  forum,  just  in  front  of  which  | 
was  the  chair  for  the  burgess  of  his  county, 
and  without  a  word,  and  in  the  face  of  the 
whole  body,  quietly  took  his  seat  The  sur¬ 
prize  his  appearance  and  conduct  excited, 
having  a  little  subsided,  the  Governor  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

4  How  is  this,  sir  traitor !  we  are  bearded  in 
our  very  Assembly!  Whatdoest  thou  here, 
arch  rebel  ?’ 

4  Represent  my  constituents,’  answered 
Bacon,  firmly,  and  with  a  smile  of  proud  con¬ 
tempt  on  his  fine  dark  face.  He  then  rose 
and  laid  upon  the  table  his  credentials,  which 
the  Governor  examined  with  the  closest  scru¬ 
tiny. 

4  These  are  in  form,  sir,  but  they  do  not  ap¬ 
ply  to  a  traitor.  No  banned  man  is  eligible 
to  any  office  of  dignity  or  trust.  Gentlemen, 
this  outlaw,  Nathaniel  Bacon,  hath  had  the 
audacity  to  permit  himself  to  be  chosen  bur¬ 
gess  of  his  county,  after  proclamation  of  trea¬ 
son  against  him,  and  now  demands  his  seat 
with  as  honest  a  front,  as  if  he  were  a  true 
man.  Will  you  receive  him  among  your 
number  ?’ 

4  Ay,  ay — no,  no !’  for  several  moments  fil¬ 
led  the  hall  from  conflicting  voices,  when  the 
Governor,  to  put  an  end  to  it,  cried  out, 

4  Ho,  sergeant !  command  Captain  Wilfred 
to  march  in  a  file  of  men  and  take  his  prisoner.’ 

4  Ha,  this  treachery  !’  exclaimed  Bacon, 
half  drawing  his  sword. 

‘Treachery!’  repeated  Sir  William,  with  a 
smile  of  triumph,  4  seize  the  traitor !’  he  cried, 
as  the  soldiers  entered,  and  marched  up  to  the 
spot  where  he  stood. 

4 1  will  not  resist  your  Excellency,’  said 
Bacon,  giving  up  his  sword  to  the  captain  of 
the  guard,  4  lest  it  should  look  like  guilt.  I 
yield  myself  your  prisoner,  and  leave  the  ad- 
judgment  of  my  case  to  my  country.’ 

The  Assembly  broke  up  in  confusion,  and 
Bacon  was  led  to  the  prison,  where,  before 
midnight,  the  Governor  sent  his  thirty  friends 
to  join  him,  putting  them  in  irons,  having  by 
stratagem  captured  the  sloop  as  it  lay  off  the 
town,  on  learning  that  it  was  the  vessel  that 
had  brought  Bacon  down  the  river. 


PART  IV. 


THE  TRIAL  FOR  TREASON. 

The  next  day  Bacon  and  his  adherents 
were  brought  ironed  into  the  presence  of  the 
Governor  and  council,  who  constituted  a  tri¬ 
bunal  for  the  trial  of  the  offence  with  which 
he  was  charged.  The  state  house  was  filled 
with  people,  and  the  excitement  was  so  great 
throughout  the  town,  not  only  among  the 
citizens,  but  the  members  of  the  Assembly 
and  strangers,  that  the  Governor  was  forced 
to  place  a  strong  guard  in  and  about  the  coun¬ 
cil  chamber.  His  soldiers,  however,  had 
caught  the  enthusiasm  which  the  young  in¬ 
surgent’s  brilliant  actions  had  created  in  the 
minds  of  all,  and  were  as  likely  to  go  over  to 
Bacon’s  party,  as  adhere  to  the  Governor. 
Sir  William  Berkley  was  penetrating  enough 
to  see  this ;  and  policy  dictated  to  him  a  mild 
course,  lest  by  severity  he  should  rouse  the 
indignation  of  the  people  and  thwart  his  own 
ends. 

After  the  usual  preliminaries  in  cases  of 
trial  for  treason  were  gone  through,  Col.  Ba¬ 
con  abruptly  rose  and  thus  spoke  in  his  de¬ 
fence  : 

4 1  stand  here,  gentlemen,  manacled  like  a 
condemned  felon,  charged  with  high  treason^ 
I  ask  whether  as  a  man,  wholly  devoted  to 
his  king  and  country,  who  has  adventured  his 
life  and  fortune,  ay,  and  his  honor  too,  to 
punish  enemies  in  arms  against  his  king  and 
country,  be  a  traitor  ?  I  ask  if  a  man  who 
never  plotted,  contrived,  or  endeavored  the 
destruction,  detriment,  or  wrong  of  any  of 
His  Majesty’s  subjects,  their  lives,  fortunes  or 
estates,  deserves  the  name  of  rebel  and  traitor. 
If  this  be  treachery,  then  am  I  a  traitor !  If 
this  be  rebellion,  then  am  I  a  rebel !  But  ’till 
patriotism  be  proven  to  be  treason,  devotion 
to  the  king  disloyalty,  and  love  of  country  re¬ 
bellion,  I  stand  before  God  an  honest  man 
and  a  faithful  subject !  Behold  my  conduct  in 
the  affair  for  which  I  am  here  in  chains.  Be-. 


hold  that  of  my  brave  soldiers  !  I  call  upon 
t  he  whole  country  to  witness  against  me  or 
them,  if  they  can !  There  be  some  men  in 
authority,  who,  from  weakness  of  intellect, 
cannot  distinguish  between  patriotism  and 
rebellion :  or,  who  have  such  vicious  natures 
themselves,  that  they  can  see  no  good  in 
others ! 

4  I  have  not  sought  wealth  by  trickery !  I 
have  not  sought  honor  by  sycophancy !  I  have 
not  been  blinded  by  the  glitter  of  gold!  I 
have  not  been  a  sponge  to  suck  up  the  public 
treasure !  The  colony  has  become  a  mart, 
and  rulers,  forgetting  their  stations,  have  be¬ 
come  pedlars  and  brokers!  What  arts  have 
been  promoted  in  the  colony  ?  what  sciences, 
what  school  of  learning,  or  manufactories 
have  been  established  and  nourished  in  au¬ 
thority  ?  Barter  and  trade,  pounds  and  pen¬ 
nies  are  the  God  here  worshipped. 

4  Such  being  the  universal  degeneracy,  it 
becomes  those  men  who  had  remained  honest, 
to  look  after  the  country’s  good.  I  justify 
my  campaign  against  the  Indians.  It  is  true 
I  have  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Sir  William 
Berkley,  by  declaring  war  against  his  friends, 
and,  doubtless,  beaver-skins  will  be  less 
abundant  in  town,  for  a  time.  It  is  well 
known  to  all  who  hear  me,  that  I  have  done 
Sir  William  great  wrong,  and  am  viewed  in 
his  eyes  rather  as  a  robber  who  hath  taken 
from  his  purse,  than  as  a  traitor,  false  to  his 
allegiance.  But  a  traitor  is  easily  said- — 
while  to  prove  a  man  a  robber  for  slaying  a 
few  scores  of  savages,  who  have  long  infest¬ 
ed  the  frontier,  were  a  more  difficult  thing. 
We  all  know  his  Excellency’s  friendship  for 
his  tanny  friends,  and  that  to  our  disgrace  and 
shame,  he  hath,  in  this  very  court,  refused  to 
admit  a  Virginian’s  oath  against  an  Indian, 
when  that  Indian’s  bare  word  was  accepted 
against  a  Virginian.  I  do  but  mention  these 
things,  my  friends  to  refresh  your  memories. 
I  would  also  hint  to  Sir  William,  who  listens 
with  commendable  patience,  that  it  is  not  in 
his  power  to  dispose  of  his  favorite  beaver 
trade  to  his  own  profit,  it  being  a  monopoly 
of  the  crown.  But  this  he  must  settle  with 
his  Majesty.  The  powder,  shot,  and  fire¬ 
arms  he  hath  given  to  the  Indians,  contrary 
to  the  laws  of  the  colony,  hath  made  him  a 


buyer  and  seller  of  the  blood  of  his  own 
brethren  and  countrymen — this  he  must  set¬ 
tle  with  his  own  conscience.  But,  gentle¬ 
men,  I  have  done!.!  have  but  reviewed  the 
Governor’s  course  in  contrast  with  my  own. 
You  will  see  who  best  deserves  to  be  called — ■’ 

4  What  ?’  demanded  the  Governor,  fiercely. 

4  Traitor  /’  continued  Bacon,  in  a  firm  tone. 

‘  Seize  and  drag  him  to  execution.’ 

4  Sir  Governor,  you  have  no  power  to  do 
this  thing,’  said  Bacon,  fearlessly  ;  4 1  appeal 
to  the  King  and  parliament,  where  justice  and 
wisdom  yet  dwell,  and  where  mine  and  the 
people’s  cause  will  be  impartially  heard  and 
wisely  adjudged.’ 

This  speech  of  the  insurgent  leader  had  an 
electric  effect  upon  the  audience  of  the  peo¬ 
ple,  and  he  had  no  sooner  ended,  than  shouts 
of  applause,  mingled  with  epithets  of  oppro¬ 
brium  against  the  Governor,  filled  the  hall, 
and  were  re-echoed  from  the  green  without. 
Sir  William  Berkley  was  the  while  burning 
with  indignant  mortification,  tor  the  words 
and  ironical  manner  of  the  prisoner  had  cut 
him  sorely.  He  would  at  once  have  had  him 
led  forth  and  shot,  but  that  he  feared  the 
multitude,’ whose  temper  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  also  feared  the  result  of  the  appeal 
to  the  King,  and  trembled  to  have  the  gan¬ 
grene  of  his  own  character  laid  open  to  the 
assembled  parliament  by  so  sharp  a  knife  as 
the  tongue  of  the  insurgent  leader.  After 
consulting  a  few  moments  with  his  counsel 
on  the  bench,  he  turned  to  the  prisoner,  and 
said  in  a  tone  of  assumed  blandness — 

4  Nathaniel  Bacon,  I  do  graciously  forgive 
your  harsh  language  of  myself,  and  by  the 
advice  of  my  counsel,  offer  you  pardon  for 
your  offences,  on  condition  of  your  waiting 
patiently  until  I  can  raise  forces  for  your 
command.  I  also  acquit  from,  and  pardon 
all  misdemeanors  of  your  friends  now  at  the 
bar,  restoring  you,  furthermore,  and  confirm¬ 
ing  to  you  your  seat  in  the  assembly.’ 

Bacon  fixed  his  penetrating  glance  upon 
the  Governor  while  he  was  speaking,  and 
smiled  as  if  he  understood  the  motive  that  in¬ 
fluenced  his  conduct,  which  he  was  satisfied 
was  fear  of  losing  his  popularity  of  the  col¬ 
onists,  and  so  of  being  re-called  from  his 
profitable  governorship. 


4 1  promise,’  answered  Bacon,  4  if  the  com¬ 
mission  you  promise  be  given  to  me  within 
fourteen  days.  Your  red  friends  on  the  bor¬ 
ders,  Sir  William,  are  by  no  means  wholly 
quieted,  aad  the  men  you  propose  to  raise 
may  soon  be  wanted  in  the  field.’ 

4  You  shall  have  the  commission,  Colonel 
Bacon,  and  I  trust,  henceforward,  all  differ¬ 
ences  between  us  will  end.’ 

Thus  spoke  the  wily  Governor,  who,  by 
commissioning  Bacon  under  himself,  in  the 
regular  colonial  forces  of  his  own  levying, 
hoped  to  destroy  that  extraordinary  popular¬ 
ity  which,  as  an  independent  leader  of  a 
chivalrous  volunteer  army,  he  was  so  rapidly 
acquiring.  By  this  master-stroke  he  felt  con¬ 
fident  he  should  effectually  destroy  the  rival 
power  that  threatened  his  own  ruin.  It  was 
done  a*  a  great  sacrifice  of  personal  feeling 
— for  the  deepest  enmity  rankled  in  his  breast 
against  him.  He  then  rose,  and  taking  Col¬ 
onel  Bacon  by  the  hand,  (after  first  ordering 
his  manacles  to  be  unlocked)  and  placed  him 
in  his  seat  among  the  members  of  the  assem¬ 
bly.  The  multitude,  by  this  unexpected  ter¬ 
mination  of  the  scene,  sent  up  a  shout  as  loud 
as  that  which  had  before  burst  from  them. 
Sir  William  Berkley,  courteously  smiling  and 
bowing  at  this  testimony  of  their  approbation, 
then  dismissed  the  court,  and  putting  his  arm 
in  that  of  Colonel  Bacon,  left  the  hall,  fol¬ 
lowed  by  his  counsel  and  the  members  of  the 
assembly. 


PART  V. 


OCCUPATION  OF  THE  TOWN  BY  INSURGENTS. 

The  news  of  the  arrest  of  Bacon  and  his 
adhhrents  had  flown  like  wildfire  from  James¬ 
town  to  the  interior,  and  before  night,  a  hun¬ 
dred  of  his  friends,  mounted  and  armed,  were 
in  the  town,  who,  finding  him  restored  to  fa¬ 
vor,  and  his  adherents  to  liberty,  returned 


home  satisfied,  and  with  better  feelings  to¬ 
wards  the  governor.  Sir  William  Berkley 
took  advantage  of  this  favorable  state  of  the 
public  mind,  and  seeing  all  was  once  more 
quiet,  issued  private  warrants  to  take  him 
again,  he  having  gone  to  his  plantation.  At 
the  same  time  he  sent  to  levy  the  militia  of 
one  of  the  counties  which,  situated  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  bay,  had  not  been  inocu¬ 
lated  with  Bacon’s  4  treason,’  and  would, 
doubtless,  readily  obey  his  orders,  so  that, 
holding  the  balance  of  power  in  his  own 
hands,  he  might  withstand  any  attempts  of 
Bacon’s  adherents  to  rescue  him,  (should  he 
arrest  him)  or  avert  the  course  of  his  ven¬ 
geance. 

Bacon,  however,  was  far  from  being  the 
dupe  of  the  Governor’s  duplicity.  He  anti¬ 
cipated  these  very  steps,  and  had  no  sooner 
reached  his  own  county,  than  he  despatched 
secret  orders  to  his  captains  and  other  officers, 
to  be  in  readiness  for  action.  At  the  end  of 
the  fourteenth  day,  he  sent  a  messenger  to 
Jamestown  for  his  commission.  Sir  Wililam 
Berkley  replied  that  it  was  ready  for  him, 
and  the  troops  already  levied,  and  would  be 
in  Jamestown  the  third  day,  thereafter  to  the 
number  of  one  thousand  men. 

4  There  shall  be  a  thousand  men  there  be¬ 
fore  them,  you  little  suspect,  Sir  William,’ 
said  Bacon,  with  a  smile,  when  the  messen¬ 
ger  returned  him  this  answer,  for  he  had 
heard  of  the  private  warrant,  and  now  deter¬ 
mined  to  act. 

The  same  evening  he  was  riding  towards 
Jamestown  with  nine  hundred  mounted  men 
at  his  back.  The  Governor  had  rumor  of  his 
approach,  and  in  great  alarm  sent  to  the  well- 
disposed  districts,  on  both  sides  of  the  James 
River,  for  forces  to  defend  the  town,  upon 
which  he  was  now  assured  Bacon  was  deter¬ 
mined  to  make  an  attack. 

Expresses  came  hourly  of  the  enemy’s  ap¬ 
proach,  and  at  two  o’clock  the  ensuing  day, 
the  insurgents,  (now,  for  the  first  time,  really 
such,)  entered  the  town  without  being  with¬ 
stood,  and  formed  a  body  upon  the  green, 
4  not  a  ffiight  shot  ffrom  the  end  of  the  State 
House,  of  horse  and  ffoot,  as  regular  drawn 
up  in  battel  array  as  veteran  troopers,ahd  pos¬ 
sessing  themselves  forthwith  of  all  avenues, 


disarming  all  in  towne,  and  coming  thither 
both  in  boats  and  by  the  land.’ 

In  half  an  hour  after  this,  the  drum  beat 
for  the  Assembly  to  meet,  and  soon  after,  the 
rebel  chief  came  with  a  file  of  fusileers,  to 
the  outer  porch  of  the  council  chamber,  when 
the  Governor  and  council  went  forth  to  meet 
him.  The  scene  that  followed,  is  best  de¬ 
scribed  in  the  words  of  an  eye-wttness,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  assembly,  and  a  parti- 
zan  of  the  Governor. 

4  We  saw, 'from  the  windowe,  the  Gover¬ 
nor  open  his  breast  when  he  saw  Bacon  ad¬ 
vancing  upon  him  with  such  hostile  bearings. 
The  rebell  captain  walked  between  his  two 
files  of  soldiers,  with  a  fierce  aspect  and 
haughtier  front,  and  seemingly  in  great  ire 
and  displeasure  at  the  Governor.  We  did 
momently  expect  he  would  bid  his  men  fall 
upon  Sir  William,  and  we  of  the  assembly 
expected  the  same  immediate  fate.  I  step’d 
down  to  the  out-door,  and  among  the  crowd, 
found  the  seamen  of  my  plantatioh  sloop, 
who,  in  great  fear,  prayed  me  not  to  stir  from 
them.  I  then  saw  the  Governor,  who  was 
was  looking  very  pale,  for  he  had  not  two 
hundred  soldiers  in  the  town  to  stick  by  him, 
walk  towards  his  private  aparment ;  a  colts’ 
cast  distant  from  the  other  end  of  the  State 
House,  the  gentlemen  of  the  council  follow¬ 
ing  him.  After  him  walked  Colonel  Bacon, 
commanding  his  soldiers  cock  their  pieces  if 
any  would  escape,  clapping  his  hand  on  his 
sword  menacingly.  The  fusileers,  with  their 
fusils  cocked,  presented  them  at  the  window 
of  the  assembly-chamber,  filled  with  faces  of 
the  members,  and  repeated  in  savage  voices, 

‘  We  will  have  it!  we  will  have  it!’ 

‘  What  will  you  have  ?’  asked  one  from  the 
window. 

‘  The  commission !’  answered  they. 

‘You  shall  have  it!  you  shall  have  it!’  re¬ 
peated  the  gentleman,  three  or  four  times, 
shaking  his  white  handkerchief  out  at  the 
windowe. 

At  these  words  they  unbent  the  locks  of 
their  fusils,  and  stood  still  until  Bacon,  com¬ 
ing  back,  (for  he  had  entered  the  private  room 
with  the  Governor,)  they  followed  to  the  main 
body. 

‘  In  this  hubbub,  a  servant  of  mine  got  so 


nigh  as  to  hear  the  Governor’s  words,  when 
he  opened  his  breast,  and  also  what  Mr.  Ba¬ 
con  said.  Said  the  Gov’nor— 

1  Here !  shoot  me !  ’fore  God,  fair  mark ! 
shoot !’  After  rehearsing  the  same  without 
any  other  words,  whereto  Mr.  Bacon  replied, 

‘No — may  it  please  yo’r  excellence — we 
will  not  hurt  a  hair  of  yo’r  head,  nor  any  oth¬ 
er  gentleman  present.  We  are  come  for  a 
commission  to  save  our  lives  and  estates 
from  the  Indians.  This  you  promised,  and 
have  deceived  me,  and,  moreover,  have  tried 
to  have  me  arrested,  meanwhile,  that  you 
mi>ht  get  me  into  your  hands.  We  want 
you  to  fulfil  your  promise,  and  we  do  assure 
you  we  will  have  the  commission  before  we 
goe. 

‘  And  afterwards  I  heard  it  was  said,  Ba¬ 
con  ordered  his  fusileers,  when  they  were 
aiming  at  the  windows  full  of  faces,  that  if 
he  should  draw  his  sword,  they  were,  on  sight 
of  it,  to  fire  and  slay  us,  gazing  out  of  the 
window,  saying,  ‘  I’ll  put  to  death,  Gov’nor, 
council,  assemble,  and  all,  but  that  I’ll  have 
the  commission  !’  So  near  was  the  massacre 
of  us  all  that  very  minit,  had  he  drawn  his 
sword  before  the  pacific  bandkercher  was 
shaken  out.  at  the  window.’ 

The  insurgent  leader,  on  quitting  the  pri¬ 
vate  apartment  of  the  Governor,  where, he 
left  him  with  his  council,  entered  the  assem¬ 
bly  alone,  leaving  his  guard  at  the  entrance, 
and  haughtily  demanded  a  commission  to  be 
then  and  there  given  him.  The  speaker  re¬ 
mained  silent,  when  one.  of  Bacon’s  friends 
rose  up  and  said  with  courtesy : 

‘We  would  most  willingly  do  this,  Colonel 
Bacon,  but  you  must  be  aware  that  to  grant 
it,  is  not  in  our  province  or  power,  nor  of  any 
other,  save  the  King’s  vicegerent,  our  Gover¬ 
nor.’ 

At  length  the  Governor  and  council  came 
in,  and  promised  that  if  he  would  withdraw 
his  troops,  he  should,  the  next  day,  receive  a 
commission  as  general  of  the  forces  which  he 
now  illegally  commanded.  To  this,  after 
some  discussion,  he  consented,  desiring,  if 
possible,  to  avert  bloodshed,  by  bringing  his 
troops  in  collision  with  the  Governor’s  Gloster 
militia,  which  would  arrive  the  next  day — 
his  object  being  to  obtain  peaceably,  if  he 


could,  forcibly,  if  he  must,  legal  authority  to 
raise  men  in  defence  of  the  frontier.  Through 
all  his  conduct,  he  had  shown  a  degree  of 
moderation  that  proved  that  he  was  actuated 
only  by  love  for  his  country,  and  that  so  far, 
he  had  little  deserved  the  stigma  which  was 
attached  to  his  name. 


PART  VI 


THE  CONCLUSION. 

The  next  day  Bacon,  he,  having  witdrawn 
his  army  a  league  from  the  town,  despatched 
a  messenger  to  receive  the  commission  of 
general  that  had  been  promised  to  him.  Dur¬ 
ing  the  absence  of  this  individual,  rumor  came 
that  the  Indians,  taking  advantage  of  the  in¬ 
testine  civil  broils  between  the  Governor’s 
and  Bacon’s  factions,  had  penetrated  within 
forty  miles  of  the  capital,  with  a  large  force, 
burning  and  slaying  wherever  they  came. 
He  immediately  placed  his  men  in  order  of 
march,  and  on  horseback,  surrounded  by  his 
chief  officers,  waited  the  return  of  his  mes¬ 
senger.  He  at  length  appeared,  and  said  that 
he  was  commanded  by  the  Governor  to  say 
that  the  commission  could  be  given  only  to 
Colonel  Bacon  in  person,  and  that  if  he  de¬ 
layed  longer  than  the  third  day  thereafter,  to 
come  and  receive  it,  it  would  be  clearly  taken 
for  granted  that  he  did  not  truly  desire  it,  and 
only  had  demanded  it  to  cover  his  own  rebel¬ 
lious  designs. 

This  reply  fired  Bacon  with  indignation  ; 
but  he  knew  too  well  the  character  of  the 
Governor  to  be  surprized  at  it.  His  first  im¬ 
pulse  was  to  march  into  the  town,  and  chas¬ 
tize  the  Governor  who  had  sent  such  a  mes¬ 
sage,  and  the  assembly  that  had  ratified  it. 
But  his  love  for  his  country  overcame  his 
personal  feelings,  and  without  hesitation,  he 
gave  the  command  to  march  forthwith  against 
the  Indians. 


He  had  been  on  his  march  but  a  few  hours, 
when  the  Governor’s  troops,  to  the  number  of 
twelve  hundred  men,  arrived  in  the  town,  and 
encamped  on  the  green  so  lately  occupied  by 
the  insurgent  forces.  He  immediately  order¬ 
ed  them  to  be  in  readiness  to  pursue  Bacon, 
whom  he  now  a  second  time  proclaimed  a 
rebel,  and  on  pain  of  forfeiture  ot  estate  and 
imprisonm  ent,  aid  him  in  suppressing  the  re¬ 
bellion. 

At  this  time  arose  a  murmur  of  dissatisfac¬ 
tion  among  the  troops,  already  favoring  Ba¬ 
con’s  proceedings ;  and  answering  that  they 
came  ‘to  fight  Indians,  and  not  Virginians,’ 
they  re-embarked  in  three  boats  and  vessels 
and  to  a  man  returned  across  the  bay  to  their 
homes. 

Bacon,  in  the  meanwhile,  a  third  time 
drove  the  Indians  back  to  their  forests,  and 
added  laurels  to  the  bright  wreath  he  had  al¬ 
ready  won.  He  now  heard  of  the  Governor’s 
defeated  intentions  of  pursuing  him  as  a  reb¬ 
el,  and  in  his  indignation,  he  resolved  to  get 
possession,  until  he  should  obtain  from  him 
not  only  a  commission,  but  redress  for  the 
many  and  bitter  grievances  that,  under  his 
administration,  afflicted  the  colony. 

He  immediately  marched  towards  James¬ 
town,  taking  on  his  way  as  prisoners,  all 
whom  he  suspected  would  molest  him  in 
his  war  against  the  Indians,  yet  giving  liber¬ 
ty  to  such  as  pledged  themselves  by  an  oath, 
framed  by  himself,  to  return  home  and  live  in 
quiet. 

One  of  these  persons  taken  was  suspected 
to  be  a  spy,  having  offered  himself  to  Bacon 
as  a  deserter  from  the  Governor’s  guard. — 
He  called  a  council  of  war,  fairly  tried  him, 
and  proved  that  he  had  thrice  gone  between 
his  enemy  and  Jamestown,  on  private  service 
for  the  Governor.  The  proof  was  clear;  yet 
Bacon,  unwilling  to  shed  the  first  blood  in  the 
quarrel,  declared  openly  to  him,  in  the  hear¬ 
ing  of  the  whole  line,  4  that  if  one  man  in  the 
army  would  speak  a  word  to  save  him,  he 
should  not  suffer  death.’  No  one  interceded 
for  him,  and  he  was  shot.  This  clemency  of 
the  insurgent  leader  greatly  increased  his 
popularity,  and  added  numbers,  hitherto  neu¬ 
tral,  to  the  force  he  commanded. 

Sir  William  Berkley,  dn  hearing  of  Ba- 


con’s  approach,  tried  to  gather  a  force  to 
withstand  him. 

I  ’*  But  the  popularity  of  the  opposite  cause 
«  was  greater  than  that  of  the  loyal  party,  and 
he  could  not  muster  more  than  three  hun- 
v,  dred  men  to  stand  by  him  in  the  defence — a 
'*  third  of  whom  were  members  of  the  Assem¬ 
bly,  and  private  gentlemen  personally  disaf¬ 
fected  towards  Bacon. 

With  these,  however,  the  Governor  deter¬ 
mined  to  make  resistance,  and  threw  up  a 
breast  work  across  the  narrow  peninsula, 
which  joined  the  town  to  the  main  land.— 
This  he  protected  by  four  pieces  of  cannon 
planted  a  hundred  rods  in  the  rear ;  and  tak¬ 
ing  up  his  position  with  more  resolution  and 
courage  than  it  was  supposed  his  bartering 
and  avaricious  spirit  had  left  in  him,  he  wait¬ 
ed  the  advance  of  the  insurgents. 

The  same  afternoon,  Bacon  arrived  in 
sight  of  the  wrorks,  and  taking  a  closer  view 
of  them,  did  not  see  fit  to  attack  the  position, 
but  went  to  work  and  threw  up  an  embank¬ 
ment  beyond  musket  shot  of  and  twice  the 
height  of  the  barrier,  so  that  in  the  morning 
the  Governor  found  that  his  position  was  com¬ 
manded  by  that  of  his  enemy.  He  elevated 
his  cannon,  and  was  about  to  open  a  fire  upon 
this  work,  when  to  his  surprise,  he  saw  seve¬ 
ral  ladies  appear  upon  his  enemy’s  ramparts, 
whose  husbands  were  with  him  in  his  own 
party.  This  produced  surprise  and  conster¬ 
nation  on  his  side,  and  the  firing  was  instant¬ 
ly  withheld.*  As  they  stood  uncertain  how 
to  act,  they  found  their  defences  suddenly 
attacked,  and  in  a  moment  carried,  while 
they,  for  fear  of  slaying  the  ladies  on  the 
ramparts,  were  unable  to  return  a  single  shot. 
This  singular  step  on  the  part  of  the  insur¬ 
gent  leader  was  taken  doubtless  to  prevent 
unnecessary  blood-shed,  in  which  he  was  par¬ 
tially  successful.  The  Governor  finding  his 
works  carried  and  the  enemy  in  the  town, 
resisted  them  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  with 

*  u  He  fetches  into  his  defences/''  saj^s  a  writer, 
“  all  the  prime  men’s  wives,  whose  husbands  were 
with  the  Governor,  having  captured  them  at  their 
country  houses,  (as  Coll.  Bacone’s  lady,Mdm.  Bray, 
Mdm’s.  Page,  Ballard,  and  others,)  which  the  next 
morning  he  presents  to  the  view  of  their  husbands 
and  ffriends  in  towne  upon  the  top  of  the  wall  work 
he  had  cast  up  in  the  night,  where  he  caused  them 
to  tarry  ’till  his  purpose,  in  picking  up  such  pickets 
of  white  aprons  was  effected.” 


the  loss  of  several  men,  precipitately  fled  to 
his  vessels,  and  crossing  the  bay  left  the  town 
n  the  hands  of  the  rebels. 

The  quarrel  had  now  taken  the  aspect  of  a 
civil  war,  and  Bacon  felt  that  he  had  gone  too 
far  to  retract.  He  now  resolved  to  take  the 
government  into  his  own  hands,  send  out  a 
true  representation  of  the  whole  affair  to  His 
Majesty,  and  throw  himself  upon  the  King’s 
clemency.  He  was  herein  a  rebel,  but  not  a 
traitor.  To  any  other  man  than  Sir  William 
Berkley,  appointed  by  the  King,  he  was  rea¬ 
dy  to  resign  his  authority  and  yield  up  his 
power.  To  him  he  determined  never  again 
to  pay  allegiance. 

Up  to  this  period,  the  impartial  historian 
will  perhaps  justify  the  conduct  of  Nathan¬ 
iel  Bacon.  He  was  now,  however,  under  the 
excitement  of  conquests,  and  about  to  com¬ 
mit  an  act,  but  for  which  his  name  might  have 
come  down  to  us  as  that  of  a  patriot  leader  of 
the  loftiest  virtue  and  courage.  It  is  difficult 
to  tell  why  Colonel  Bacon  should  have  burn¬ 
ed  Jamestown.  That  he  thought  its  destruc¬ 
tion  necessary  to  his  safety  is  probable.  But 
whatever  may  have  been  his  motive  for  this 
flagrant  act,  it  stands  recorded  against  him  as 
a  crime  of  the  deepest  dye,  and  is  the  main 
point  on  which  hangs  his  reputation  as  a 
lawless  rebel.  Before  night,  the  whole  fair 
‘towne’  was  in  a  heap  of  ashes — church  and 
state  house,  hotel  and  private  dwelling — not 
a  roof  remained  to  tell  where  in  the  morning 
stood  the  capital  of  Virginia. 

The  next  day  he  marched  out  of  the  town, 
and  prepared  to  take  up  a  strong  position  not 
far  above  on  the  James  River,  having  some 
unknown  design  in  contemplation,  when  he 
was  suddenly  seized  with  illness  while  on 
horseback,  and  died  three  days  afterward — it 
is  said  from  the  effects  of  poison  rubbed  upon 
his  saddle  by  the  Indian  Cineca. 

This  event  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  rebel¬ 
lion,  which  bid  fair,  measured  by  the  awaken¬ 
ing  ambition  of  its  head,  to  separate  Virginia 
from  Great  Britain.*  Those  gentlemen  who 
could  save  themselves  by  instant  flight  in¬ 
stantly  did  so.  Many  of  the  insurgent  offi- 

*  It  is  a  coincidence  worthy  of  remark,  that  this 
rebellion  in  Virginia  took  place  precisely  one  hun¬ 
dred  years  before  that  of  the  thirteen  colonies. 


Lwhom  w 

_  executed,  an 
tates  were  confiscated. 

It  was  a  season  of  triumph  as  well  as  j^ofit 
to  Sir  William  Berkley  who  soon  made  him¬ 
self  opulent  on  the  rebel  soils.  He  soon  after 
went  to  England,  it  was  rumored  by  com¬ 
mand  of  the  king,  leaving  Colonel  Jeffries  in 
his  place  as  governor  of  the  province.  It  is 
well  known  that  Charles,  hearing  of  his  arri¬ 
val  in  London,  said  of  him,  with  the  charac¬ 
teristic  freedom  with  which  he  was  wont  to 
speak  of  his  public  officers: 

‘  That  old  fool  has  hanged  more  men  in 
that  naked  country  than  I  have  done  for  the 
murder  of  my  father !’ 

The  Governor,  hearing  of  this,  became  so  I 
mortified  with  grief  and  vexation,  that  he  I 


after,  without  seeing  Hn 
si  property  escheating  to  the  m  ^ 
Thus  terminated  the  famous  ‘Baconl 
bellion,  and  the  lives  of  the  principal  actors 
therein.’  If  the  private  documents  from 
which  the  facts  in  this  brief  outline  are  ta¬ 
ken,  speak  the  truth,  the  name  of  Col.  Bacon 
will  be  rescued  from  the  infamy  wrhich  has 
adhered  to  it,  for  a  century  and  a  half;  the 
stigma  of  corruption,  cruelty  and  treachery, 
will  be  fixed  on  the  administration  by  whichl 
he  was  condemned ;  and  one  more  case  will 
be  added  to  those  which  prove  that  insurrec¬ 
tions  proceed  oftener  from  the  misconduct  of 
those  in  power,  than  from  the  factious  and 
turbulent  temper  of  the  people. 

the  end. 


